


Flowers and Stone

by fadeverb



Series: Leo [4]
Category: In Nomine
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 57,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeverb/pseuds/fadeverb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo has a job: take down an inconvenient Tether of Stone. There's no way the local Flowers Tether could complicate this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which, As Usual, I Clean Up The Mess

Regan wanders into the bathroom, still covered in blood, while I'm washing the last of the corpse down the bathtub drain. "You're not finished?"

"It takes time to blast a body into bits small enough that it won't clog pipes." The water slowly turns a pale pink as the red drains out. "I have a suggestion. Next time, let's confirm the nature of our target _before_ killing anyone. Either that or we use your place for corpse disposal."

"There was every reason to believe he was working for the Host," Regan says, folding his arms in the classic "I am never wrong" position. 

"Maybe he _was_ working for the Host, but disturbance says he wasn't an angel." I turn off the tap, and stand up. "We're still in the dark about who's in charge of that Stone Tether, and now we've alerted the locals to our presence. It would be nice to get through one job without leaving a trail of bodies behind."

Disturbance hums through the air as Regan swaps out his blood-covered vessel for the cleaner, slimmer female one. "For a Destroyer," she says, "you worry a lot about killing people."

"Killing people? No, I worry about disturbance. Specifically, disturbance in a town with _two_ Heavenly Tethers." I stomp out of the bathroom into the living room, where a stack of cheap plates waits in a corner beside the dirty laundry pile. The top plate crumbles into dust at a touch of entropy. "Neither of us has a Role that'll stand up to serious inspection. If someone starts looking--"

"Then we'll deal with them," Regan says. She collapses gracefully onto the couch, spreading her arms along the back. "Relax, Leo. The two of us can handle an angel or two."

"One or two, if we have warning. A Seneschal? No.. And I'm not fond of having bodies dragged in here at four in the morning."

"I couldn't take the body to my condo. Can you imagine hauling a corpse up three flights of stairs and down a hallway without attracting attention? Or letting it drip through the elevator ride." She tilts her head back, smiling. Black hair slides along the fabric of the couch, a picture nearly pretty enough to distract me from my annoyance. "My neighbors aren't active at four in the morning, but one of them going for an early-morning jog could lead to another body, and then I'm hauling two bodies up into my condo, and from there it escalates."

"Okay, here's a thought. Call me crazy, but how about we try using methods other than killing all the witnesses and destroying the evidence?" I collapse onto the couch beside her. "It could be an exciting foray into the world of clothing without bloodstains."

"I should keep a change of clothing here, for when these situations crop up," Regan says. Ignoring my point, as she so often does when I'm not cooperating. "We should visit the Tether tomorrow and see how they're reacting. That might give us a better lead on who the celestials are."

"Regan. We were at the same briefing. Captain Savas gave us the same instructions. So what definition of _subtle_ does hanging around the Tether and figuring out who to stab next fall under?"

"If I weren't trying for subtle, I'd tell you to set the place on fire. That frequently destabilizes public perception of a Tether."

There's no use in arguing with a Balseraph who's made up her mind. "In any case, I can't go there tomorrow morning. I have classes to teach." Regan gets the Role of a day trader and an expense account to cover it, I get the Role of a struggling substitute teacher. Even with the rock-bottom property values in this city, I couldn't afford this pathetic little house without Regan channeling me cash. When the War wants to point out the disadvantages of only being in service to them, and not a proper Servitor, they're not subtle either.

"Oh, that--" Regan pauses halfway into the next word, as we hear a door inside the house open. "I'm amazed you get any real work done, between your Role and that brat."

I lean over the couch to see Katherine padding down the hallway. "What's up, Katherine?"

The kid's still in her pajamas, and yawns as she wanders towards us. "I heard you talking. Did something happen?"

"Nothing important. You should be in bed."

"Don't have school tomorrow. I got suspended again, remember?" She climbs onto the couch and curls up against me, watching Regan suspiciously from the safe side. "What happened?"

"Business, Katherine. Which means none of yours." I rest one arm over the kid's shoulders, even if Regan is wearing her "There's a human near me and it's _looking_ at me" expression. "Go back to bed."

"Not tired." Katherine yawns, and looks guilty. "Maybe a little tired. Are we going to move again?"

"Not yet." I stand up, pull her up into my arms on the way. She's getting too big to carry, with me no stronger in body than a human. "School tomorrow or not, you belong in bed. It's not even dawn."

"You're up." The kid wraps her arms around my neck. "Why do I have to go to bed if you don't?"

"Because I don't need to sleep and you do." I deposit her back in the bedroom, and shut the door.

"I don't know why you keep her," Regan says from the kitchen when I return. She pushes through the mugs in the cupboard. "Do you have any clean glasses? Ones made of glass. Your kitchen is full of junk."

"Cooperative humans can be useful." I yank open the last cupboard. "There you go."

"They're messy, stupid, mind-blind little monsters." Regan pulls out two glasses, finds the bottle of whiskey I never touch myself. "The only reason you keep her around is to minimize disturbance when you set fires. You'd be better off without either hobby."

I take the glass she offers and follow her back to the couch. Whiskey isn't my drink of choice, but one makes adjustments to accommodate one's relationships. Especially when the relationship is with someone as prickly as Regan. I've been doing well; she hasn't threatened to stab me in months. "I'm not going to win back my Prince's favor by serving yours. Extracurricular activities are necessary."

"Or you could give up on that." The argument's so old neither of us bother with heat behind our words any more. "You'd make a good Calabite of the War."

"I like my attunements." Arguing my loyalty to Belial never takes us to a pleasant conversational place. I take a sip of the whiskey to excuse my silence, and give her an excuse to move on to another topic. Dreadful beverage; whatever she says, I say it tastes of dirt. I choke it down to keep Regan happy.

"We've confirmed that man wasn't a celestial. Or anyone important enough to have a Cherub attuned to him." Regan kicks a stack of newspapers off my coffee table to prop her feet up on it. "However, this will alert them to potential danger, so we'll need to be more careful. We don't want any of our undermining attempts to be traceable. Not until we know more about their defenses."

I ever admire Regan's ability to assimilate what I've suggested and repeat it as her own analysis of the situation. "We ought to check out the Flowers Tether. Even if they're not allies to Stone, they could cause problems."

"The two Words hate each other," Regan says, "and what's Flowers going to do? Ask us nicely to stop? Not worth worrying about." She dangles her glass in one hand, makes every casual motion look elegant. That's another reason to keep the bottle here: an excuse to watch Regan handle her drinks. "If you're so concerned, why don't you go check it out? Take the brat for a walk and call it a special trip. She'll like that."

The last thing I want to do after spending hours in a classroom trying to keep shrieking children under control is stroll through peace-infused gardens with Katherine whining at my side. On the other hand, if I drop the objection, Regan might discount the Flowers Tether entirely. I'd rather not ignore it. "I'll stop by after classes and give it a once-over. They could have a Seraph, and one of those Flowers Servitors can destroy a plan by strolling down the street."

"Seraphim of Flowers aren't a problem. You know how to use a sniper rifle." She drains the last bit of whiskey from her glass, stands up. "I'll look into the Stone Tether. Subtly. Stop by around seven tomorrow and we can compare notes. Don't bring the brat, or I'll lock her in a closet. She dropped my laptop on the floor the last time she was by."

"She's being raised by a Calabite. You're surprised she has destructive tendencies?" I follow Regan to the door. "I'll leave her at home. Could you try not to kill someone this time while you're investigating? I'd rather not raise so much suspicion they call in reinforcements. The Captain would get annoyed, and when he's annoyed I start bleeding."

"I'll see what I can do." Regan takes her coat from the rack by the door, frowns on realizing it's the one sized for her taller male vessel. "I'm tired of cleaning out my car trunk anyway."


	2. In Which Children Are A Plague

The kids have just enough respect for authority that the two boys break apart when I stomp over, before I have to wade into the conflict myself. In the cold weather my bulky jacket makes me look more imposing, for what it's worth. The vessel Baal gave me hasn't enough heft to intimidate an adult. I'm used to being nondescript, but I'd prefer to look less like a pushover.

The taller kid's in the math class I'm subbing for; the other one I don't recognize. I grab at the one name I do know. "Brandon, do you want to explain this to me? Because either you two were having an enthusiastic exchange of ideas, or that was a fight. And if it's a fight I need to report it, and then we deal with paperwork. Since I'd as soon avoid more paperwork, how about you give me a better explanation?"

A few more years and they'll mouth off back at me, but these kids are close enough to children to stare at the ground. "Wasn't anything," Brandon mumbles. "We were only playing around."

The other boy nods his assent, refusing to meet my eyes. The face finally clicks: one of the students at the martial arts studio near here, the one that is, so far as we've been able to tell, not associated with Stone. "And would this playing have anything to do a discussion of whose fighting style is superior?" Both of them start, and then attempt to look innocent. "Here's a hint. If you want to fight, do it off school property."

"Wasn't doing anything," the other boy protests, indignant out of desperation. "We were only--"

"I don't want to hear it." The three-minute warning chimes through the thin autumn air. "I catch you at it again, I'm writing both of you up. In the meantime, I recommend that stand of trees behind the soccer field. Head past the fence and you're not on school property anymore. If it's not on school property or school time, it's none of my business."

I leave them to their glaring, wishing for a moment that I had one of the more useful resonances. What I could do with a Balseraph's or Habbalite's ability to play with minds... But those always come with the tradeoff of having your own mind twisted. My resonance does nothing but destruction, and I'm able to meet certain broad definitions of sanity. It's a fair trade.

The assistant principal waits by the administration building, surveying the poorly-named quad. (While I realize that term holds the weight of tradition, it would be more appropriate if the "quad" weren't a lopsided hexagon.) She waves her mug of coffee ("#1 Mom!") at me as I walk by. "Not going to write them up?"

"Who wants to deal with the paperwork?" I lean against the wall, my hands tucked safely inside my pockets. Less than half the day left, and I'm already itching to pull something apart. This job wears on my nerves. Next period is free; I'll shred paper between grading worksheets. "If nobody's bleeding, it's not a fight."

"I'll give it a seven for sincerity, but a three for intensity. That puts them at 'scuffle' on the Fight-o-meter." She drains the last of her coffee, and sighs when the final bell rings. "Three weeks until the break. I can hold out that long. How are your classes? Keeping the lid on the merry havoc?"

"I can't blame them for being bored. Worksheets day in and day out..." I shrug, the insinuation that I could do better if they let substitute teachers actually _teach_ hanging in the air. "While I'd prefer to be working, the break will let me spend some more time with Katherine."

"Hate to say it, Leo, but your niece needs some help." The city's small enough that gossip spreads quickly in the teaching community; I find out what the kid's done in the classroom from a coworker before her school contacts me. "I worry about her. There's a big step from starting fights to trying to set a classroom on fire."

"That's what the smoke detectors are for, right? It'll keep them on their toes." I smile sheepishly, as if I'm uncomfortable with the subject.

"Mm." She nods to me, heads back inside, and I take the hint myself to get back to my clammy classroom.

I break up two more fights and prevent another during the last two classes of the day. Patterns are developing in the nature of their arguments and who's up in arms against whom. A particular expression has become common among the kids in my classes: a smug, half-hidden smirk, never on more than one person at a time. I keep my observations to myself and don't stop the current bearer of that look at the end of the day. Sloppy Shedite, to think no one would notice. One expects more caution out of the Fleshless in a city with so many angels about.

Back home, Katherine's parked on the floor staring at the TV. When Nybbas takes over Hell, she'll be first in line to welcome our Media overlords. "I set the couch on fire," she says, not looking away from the commercials.

"That would explain the smell." The couch now sports a charred hole in the cushion where Regan sits when she deigns to visit. "You didn't do a very good job."

"The fire kept going out." Katherine shifts around to look up at me. "I went through half a box of matches, but I got bored. What's for dinner?"

"It's only four, and we have someplace to be in half an hour. Get your shoes and your jacket." I collapse on the unburnt portion of the couch until she returns in outside attire. "Katherine, you know that lecture you got about playing with matches and how dangerous one little flame can be?"

"Yes?" She bounces on her heels in front of me.

"Only works in exactly the right conditions. If you want to set something big on fire, use an accelerant." I grab my jacket. "Lighter fluid is the obvious choice. Gasoline has cachet, but I wouldn't recommend it because of the chance of explosions. If you want something you can buy in a store without raising suspicion, hairspray. And a lighter is more effective than matches."

"What about paper? Isn't paper good for burning?" She kicks up dead leaves as she scampers down the sidewalk.

"Flares up quickly, dies off just as fast. No staying power there." I grab the sleeve of her jacket to rein her in once we reach the bus stop. "Except in large quantities that aren't compressed. You can do well with that."

"Can I burn down the school?"

"Maybe later." An old woman with a walker shuffles down the block towards us. "Now shut up and act cute."

Katherine sulks all the way to the Tether, but at least she's quiet.

The local Tether of Flowers wears high stone walls, older than the official city and so sturdy I'd need serious explosives to take them down. The wrought-iron gates in front have pointed spikes at the top, but stand open until seven on weekdays. I scan the place for marks of their security system as we stand in line at the ticket stand. No more than stone and iron at this layer, but I don't know where the locus is. Does Flowers bother to defend its Tethers? They might trust their insignificance in the War as protection. For all that they're as antithetical to Baal's Word as Michael is, it's hard to take pacifist gardeners seriously.

I buy tickets for a guided tour. We're joined by a grim-faced couple dragging along an unhappy boy the same age as the kids in my math class, and an elderly tourist with a camera around her neck. I consider the ticket prices, free admission on two days of the week, that the peppy tour guide is likely a volunteer, maintenance costs, higher traffic during the spring and summer. They must be operating from invested funds. Even in a depressed real estate market, land this close to the commercial center would be more valuable as anything but a garden. The property taxes must be astronomical; city maps put this place at nearly thirty acres.

I largely ignore the guide's speech on seasonal changes in plants, saving my attention for security concerns and likely celestials. The tour guide seems unlikely; her speech sounds like rote memorization, not personal enthusiasm. A Servitor of Novalis speaking about plants ought to sound the way Regan does discussing Sun Tzu or her favorite historical battle. (The latest being the Battle of Stalingrad, which I now know more about than I ever wanted to know about military history.)

When we're led into the greenhouse, the blast of humidity sends Katherine into a squirming fit. She yanks her hand out of mine. "It's hot in here, and I'm _bored_."

"There's a playground out back," offers the ever-so-helpful guide. "Out the door and to your right. You could go play there until the tour's over." She winks at me. "Children don't always appreciate education."

"Can I go?" Katherine tugs on my sleeve. "Please?"

"Sure." I'm not in the mood for an argument, and the kid's only here for protective coloration. "I'll pick you up afterwards."

The greenhouse lecture contains as much useful information as the one outside, which is to say, none. Too much time spent with Regan sends my mind to plotting out defense and attack strategies between the flowerbeds, places with cover against weapons fire, how to throw a squad through the doorway. This Tether isn't our target, and we're not about to conduct a frontal assault on any heavenly Tether. I drag my mind back to considerations of what might hurt us from here.

Not much. The Tether drips with placidity. The tour guide leads us to the house in the center of the gardens, a wooden three-story that's obviously been added to over the decades. The additions cluster on seamlessly enough to fool a casual observer into thinking they're all original, but I can pick out three different styles of popular-at-the-time architecture just on walking in. That and the burglar alarm set up on the windows. Cheap, lousy security. Katherine could set the place on fire with a little coaching, much less a determined demon.

We get the spiel about the library of rare texts, and applying for a card to use the collection. I'd be tempted, if I were stupid enough to hand out my Role's name and contact information to the Host. I don't think Captain Savas would consider that a valid strategic move.

I head out to gather my pet human and get out of here while the others are poking around through the tiny gift shop. Past rows of brown hedges and beds of ugly cropped sticks that might be real plants in other seasons, past the greenhouse, and then down a pebbled path under a line of weeping willows. And finally out into a stretch of brown-green grass with a see-saw and wooden swing set, where Katherine sits on the ground with a young woman who's not wearing enough for the weather. Who wears a tank top and shorts when it's forty degrees?

"Time to go, Katherine." I wait by the edge of the path, watching the young woman. Tether staff, eccentric local, or something else? The brochures mentioned an official caretaker of this estate, and I'd guess that as the Seneschal, but most Seneschals have staff.

"Do I have to go _now_?" Katherine's turned to whining, knowing I can't threaten her in public. "Ling's making me a picture."

Ling, whose apparent ethnicity in no way supports her name, stands up, and there's a nagging familiarity to that hands-free motion. She's also barefoot. "Are you Leo?" This could be a Flowerchild. She smiles as sweetly as any Lilim, and her voice has all the force of a distant dream. "Katherine was telling me about you."

...right. Something for me to discuss with the kid once we get home. "How nice. Katherine, I have places to be, and we need to get going if we want catch the next bus."

"It's only twenty-three minutes after five," says Ling. "The 316 bus won't arrive for twenty-two more minutes, and the 317 should have gone by two minutes ago." She looks down at Katherine, who refuses to stand up. "She's not bothering me."

Time to switch tactics. "I suppose there's no harm in waiting." I take to the bench available for bored adults watching their children are at play. "So what were you drawing?"

What I'd thought was a slim notebook turns out to be a tablet computer: Ling flips it around to display the image to me. It's only a green-and-black sketch of some bit of vegetation. "Equisetum telmateia," she says. "Also called the Great Horsetail. They're not usually found in this part of the country. What do you think of winter?"

If this is a Servitor of Flowers, she's either on drugs or playing with too few Ethereal Forces. "What about winter? It's a season. There's not much to say about it."

"It's a metaphor. But it's also reality. The confluence can be disconcerting. When people talk about winter, they're frequently speaking of more than the literal season." She sits down beside me on the bench, as Katherine realizes I'm not leaving yet and heads for the swings. "Did you know there's a hole in the knee of your pants?"

"So there is." That's one more pair of pants down the drain, which won't help my budget any. Some days, I could almost wish I belonged to another Band. One that could keep possessions whole longer. "What brings you here today?"

"I live here." Tether staff, check. Though if so, it's a wonder they let her out unsupervised. She sketches quickly with the stylus, watching Katherine rather than the screen. "Today I was studying the grass, until the child arrived. Do you know how many types of grass there are? Classified and unclassified and extinct."

"...no?"

"It's a mystery," Ling says. "Life fills itself up with those. I sometimes wonder that there's any room left for knowing, when the unknown takes up so much space. It fills up the room and leaves us standing in the doorway." She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "That's a metaphor too. Katherine tells me that you teach. What subjects?"

"Math, at the moment. Whatever classroom they put me in. It's more babysitting during school hours; worksheets and videos for the kids to watch." Katherine's trying to pump her swing higher, legs flailing back and forth in uncoordinated effort. If I weren't busy I'd give her a push. "What do you do, Ling?"

"What I ought, as best I can." She leans near to me, and her breath smells like cinnamon. "The tricky part," she whispers, "is in the interpretation of the data gathered. All other decisions follow from those conclusions."

I've met less disturbing Balseraphs of Nightmares. "It's been a real experience talking to you, Ling, but Katherine and I ought to get moving. Buses sometimes come early, and they won't wait." I stand up, and fix a glittering smile on Katherine, the one she knows means business. "Come on, kid. It's time to go."

Katherine drops out from the end of an arc, landing clumsily on the grass. "What's for dinner? Can we get pizza?"

"I'll email you the drawing when it's done," Ling says. She doesn't follow us, only sits there on the bench, barefoot in the cold. Odd little angel or Soldier, whichever she might be. Someone to avoid, but not dangerous.


	3. An Interlude, In Which No Harm Comes To Anyone

Dalphon stood at his desk, too angry to sit. All the papers spread in front of him carried useless details of finance and city codes, none of it what he wanted focus on. "Not anything?" He'd lost the energy to snarl long ago, and now could only manage a weary plea. "In all your search--"

"Not anything." Ronda lifted and dropped one shoulder. The dark circles under her eyes told him she needed sleep soon, and he wouldn't drive his attuned into exhaustion, no matter how much he hated the situation. "That near a road, it's not like I can track anyone on pavement, and the blood trail stopped. I'm sorry, Dal, I really am."

"I know." The Cherub took a deep breath, found his center. Found it still churned. "Thank you for looking. Thank you for following the disturbance when you heard it. If I'd been able to get there myself sooner--but what's done is done, and we need to cope." One sheet of paper held information worth attending to, the schedule of classes. "I'll cover his sessions until..." He didn't know how to finish the sentence. "I should have attuned to him."

"You can't attune to every Soldier, instructor, and problem child needing guidance in this place," Ronda said gently. She stifled a yawn. "We caught the disturbance, so we have some hint."

"Some hint." Dalphon pushed the class schedule away. "I don't know if he's alive or not. Or who attacked him. Or _why_. Or--" He broke off, seeing the strain on the Soldier's face. "Go home, Ronda. Eat something, get some sleep. You have classes to teach tomorrow."

"What are we going to tell the sensei?"

"I...don't know." Dalphon closed his eyes, felt the flow of the Tether around him. A steady beacon from corporeal to celestial, tying his soul back to his Archangel's Word. Always a comfort, even in the darkest times. "Paul won't be missed until his first class tomorrow. We have that long to decide."

The woman nodded, stepped outside the office. Leaving him to paperwork and decisions.

After a moment, he heard the door open again, and looked up. "Ronda--" He stopped. "Ah. Ling."

"That's my name." The little Seraph always sounded pleased when he spoke to her, and he'd never figured out why. She shut the door behind her, and walked up to his desk. Carefully opened a fist over the papers.

Dry, torn grass drifted down.

"What _is_ this, Ling?"

"A metaphor." She frowned to herself. "It's also a physical entity, real and solid on the corporeal plane. Up until the point where it decays, but that doesn't make it less real, only changes the form. The dead leaves decay and create the soil for the future trees to sink roots through. That's a metaphor for something too, but the interpretation lies beyond me. Do you know if there are any demons in town?"

"If I knew of any, do you think I'd be sitting in here doing _paperwork_?" Dalphon reigned in his irritation. It was no fault of Flowers that he should be under attack, though neither were they of much _help_ should he need assistance in the matter. "There was disturbance early this morning, around four in the morning. Down by Parker Lake. Did you or anyone else at your Tether hear it?"

"I didn't hear. Perle would have told me if she had." The Seraph tilted her head to one side, staring at the grass across his desk. "Poor blades are all out of place. I shouldn't have brought it here. Don't you find it strange that weapons and grass both have blades? The language overlaps itself in ways I can't interpret."

Dalphon said, more calmly than he felt, "Do you have any particular reason for believing there are demons in the area?"

"Yes."

The Cherub waited a moment. Found she was still staring at the grass. "Do you want to tell me _why_ you believe there are demons in the area?"

"Patterns." Ling began to pick up the blades of grass, one by one back into her palm. "The data suggests this. When I play connect the dots, the lines cross. A child ran away from me when I approached an argument yesterday, and a moment later the same child said he remembered no argument. He believed he was telling the truth. Don't you think that's strange?"

"...you think we have a Shedite in town." Dalphon smiled tightly. "Maybe even a Shedite of Factions, if that's true. I know how to deal with _that_ sort of enemy." He began to sketch out notes in angelic on a scrap of paper. "I'm sure we can borrow a Kyriotate to give us a hand, or, ha, several. Bet he's the one behind the disturbance too, if that's the case."

"I didn't reach a conclusion, Guardian. I only saw that the lines crossed. Two lines may cross from coincidence alone, or even three. But after a time they begin to form shapes." Ling looked down at the grass in her open hand. "If they're the enemy, with us they form two dimensions. We need a third to see what's behind the flat picture. Do you know who forms the third?"

"I have work to do, so unless you have more information..." Dalphon waited a moment, then stepped away from his desk. "You didn't drive, did you? And now it's late. I'll find someone to give you a ride home."

"There's no need," Ling said. "I put on a jacket and shoes." She spread her arms to show off the loose jacket she wore over her tank top; it hung down nearly to her knees, longer than her shorts. She wore pink sandals. "I prefer to walk."

"Don't be silly, Ling. You'd be walking through parts of the city we haven't cleaned up yet, and even _you_ shouldn't do that alone. Especially in this weather. If anything happens to you on the way I just know Iris will blame me for it." He pointed a finger at her. "Stay right here, and don't touch anything. One of the classes just wrapped, and I'm sure a student can give you a lift. Plenty of good kids here."

"Good means so many different things," she said, after he had closed the door. Ling stepped behind his desk, read through what she could see of the papers on top. "It depends on who's saying it. And context. Words alone are only words." The grass fit neatly into the pocket of her jacket. "Except," she added thoughtfully, "for when they're Words."

She leaned against the door to the office, and listened.

"...real hippy types," someone said. "Granola and unshaved legs, you know?" The laughter came from two sources, moved further away. "I heard that in some of the back gardens they actually..." She lost the words as the students moved further away.

Ling lifted one knee, and spread her arms to balance on one foot as she examined that calf. "A natural feature of the vessel, if largely vestigial in function," she said. "Maybe it's a cultural thing." She placed her foot back on the ground, and walked out of the office.

Her sandals made so little noise she couldn't hear her own footsteps.

The air outside swept into her lungs, sharp against the back of her throat. Ling left her hands in her pockets as she walked, safe tucked against the soft grass there. The twilight she moved through turned dark around her, streetlights insufficient and sparse. She let the impressions flow (no graffiti on this building, this one's had a window broken, over here they've swept the sidewalk, dark alleys wait clean and uncluttered) without trying to understand them. Patterns formed as lines crossed, and no amount of staring at the dots would make the lines cross any faster.

Ling heard them approaching from behind her. They raised their voices as they drew nearer, walked faster. When she turned, the boys wore predatory smiles.

When they spoke to her, she assessed their words, found opinion and mockery, little in the way of truth. Nothing important. She turned her back to them, and continued walking.

"Not scared, are you?" one demanded, moving in front of her.

"No," Ling said. "I'm not." She stepped to the side and continued.

They tried, over and again, to bring themselves to violence, and found their hands never wished to grab at her. After several blocks, the boys left, shouting at her as they went.

Ling considered the nature of their comments, found no truth in any, and sighed to herself. The corporeal plane could be difficult to deal with.

She found herself back at the house. Unlocked the back door, and made her way upstairs to the place where Iris and Perle would be. Her feet still made no sound on the carpet.

"We'll need to remove the apple tree," Iris said, his back to the door. She found it strange over and again to see his white hair in this form when she knew his celestial image so much better. Ling leaned against the doorway, and listened. "There's too much danger of it collapsing onto the greenhouse the first time a storm comes through this winter. I hate to take out a tree that's been here for so long, but it's lived well, and there are other considerations."

"You don't think pruning would be sufficient? If we took off a few of the limbs on the west side..." Perle paused, and looked up. "Ling, dear, I thought you meant to spend the night in the garden. Come inside."

The Seraph walked forward, one foot after another. The form was real, no lie to it, but it wasn't her true form. Vessels were another metaphor, a way of expressing truth to a world unsuited to it. "I went to talk to Dalphon. I brought him two ideas, but he would only take one. Did I do it wrong?"

"You walked all the way to--oh, Ling." Perle pulled her close, and sighed. "And now you're absolutely freezing. Sit down and I'll get you something to drink."

"He asked about disturbance," Ling said, and sat down. Smiled back at Iris, because he always had a smile for her. "Did we hear any? This morning?"

"Not I," said Iris, raising one busy white eyebrow. "Did he say why?"

Ling shook her head.

"How...typical." The Seneschal leaned back in his chair. "Well, there's no helping it now. I'll send a polite note, see if he deigns to answer it. So much for a quite winter, mm?"

"If the winter were too quiet, you'd be bored stiff. Wishing for a storm by the second week of sunny skies." Perle dropped a kiss on Iris's cheek, and passed a cup of tea to Ling. "Please, don't wander so far off without telling me. If you'd gotten into danger, I might not have been able to reach you in time."

"It's hard for me to get into danger," Ling said. "But I'll tell you next time." She turned the cup about in her hands, letting the heat sink into cold skin that belonged to her but wasn't her. "I need to ask you more questions about grass."


	4. In Which Plans Are Made, If Not Necessarily Ones I Like

Regan opens the door, and yanks me in by the collar of my jacket. It's a damn good thing my job doesn't require that I wear a tie. "You're late," she says, kicking the door shut behind me. "What kept you?"

"Making sure Katherine knows how to use a fire extinguisher. She's annoyed, and I'd rather have a house to come back to." I check my watch, a $5 piece of junk that'll stop working within the week. "And I'm only five minutes late."

"Whatever." Regan lets go, strides back into the stylish living room to lean over her laptop. Balseraphs have the best decorating sense, though Impudites often have better fashion sense. "While you've been stuck in a classroom with small, annoying mortals, I've been getting work done. Did you know that only three groups hold 90% of the property in that neighborhood? Two of them are trying to offload before property values plummet further. I've arranged preliminary offers on a building adjacent to the Tether, and two others on the same block."

"Fast work." I kick off my shoes and take to the couch. I may not be able to have nice things, but I can appreciate those of others, and leather couches are very nice indeed. "Tracked down the local drug dealers yet?"

"That's more complicated. The ever-vigilant Stonies have driven them out, or underground." Regan snaps her laptop shut. "We'll have to import them if we want that angle of attack. I'd rate it as low priority. Stone's accustomed to dealing with it by now." She trails short-cut fingernails along my cheek as she walks by. "We also seem to have a Shedite in the area."

"What, is it sending up _flares_ at this point? I noticed one in my classes today--"

"And I saw it body-hopping this afternoon, near the Tether." Regan busies herself with glasses and bottles in the kitchen. "It's dumb, careless, or trying to attract attention. None of these are good for our plans. We need to go have a chat."

"What if it's a Kyriotate trying to draw us out?" I rest my head on the arm of the couch, staring up at Regan's ceiling, which has no cracks or odd stains. "Stupid is possible, but I wouldn't depend on it. Idiot Shedimdon't last long on the corporeal."

"If it's new, we may be about to demonstrate _why_ stupid ones don't last long." She hands me a glass in passing, pacing around the room. "If it's only stupid, there's no reason we should have both seen it today. Lurking near the Tether of Stone, very well, but in your classrooms?"

"It's playing with the children. There's a rivalry between the students of that Tether and another martial arts school in the city." I take a sip from the glass, suppress my instinctive reaction. "Regan, what is this?"

"Glenmorangie." Her arch look suggests I ought to recognize the name. "From Scotland. Aren't you supposed to be the clever one?"

"When it comes to _useful_ information..." I take another sip to make her happy. No better on the second try. I couldn't have a girlfriend who appreciates root beer or peach schnapps? "I stopped by the Flowers Tether. There was a...I'd guess a Force-damaged angel of some sort. Do you remember Yejide, that Lilim who'd had a few Ethereal Forces yanked off? Slightly more coherent than her. I wouldn't classify that Tether as a serious threat. Their security is abysmal."

"Not a threat."

"Mm. Not so sure on that." I leave a third of what she gave me in the glass, enough that she won't be inspired to give me a refill. "Will they interfere in what we're doing? Unlikely. The little idiot I met? Not a problem. But a Tether doesn't get that old because no one's ever tried to do anything about it, even in a city locked up by the Host. Not with shoddy defenses like those. I vote we keep away from the place."

"Oh, I don't know." She slides down next to me, drapes one arm around my neck to let her glass tap lightly against my chest. "Taking down two Tethers at once, and shifting this entire city towards our side? That would be...impressive."

Because what I need is a girlfriend who outranks me while I get nothing out of my service to Baal. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. One project's enough to deal with."

"You have no ambition, Leo."

"No, I don't. Why? Because there's no point in having any. I'm not getting anywhere. Three centuries from now, you'll be a Baron, and I will be...myself." I drain my glass before I can saying anything stupid. More stupid.

For once, she doesn't press. Only kisses me, and smiles. "Stone first. No hard time limit isn't the same as a license to delay, and speed will be appreciated. Especially if we can get them out of the way before construction begins on the new plant." She takes a sip, leaving me with an arm-wrapped neck and a sense that I need to catch up to her new conversational strategy. "By the time the news breaks, we'll have the local real estate market sewn up. Rip out that whole neighborhood and fill it with shiny blocks of condominiums, a few trendy stores. They'll call it city improvement and thank us for our civic pride. I'd like to see a Stone Tether hold on in a neighborhood full of yuppies."

"Assuming we don't run into problems with the Tether beforehand. Or they don't prove more adaptive, or resistant, than we hope." I don't consider myself a pessimist, but someone has to play the nay-sayer to all of Regan's bright, shiny plans.

"Which is when we return to plan A, get rid of anyone who causes us problems. Subtlety will only get us so far if the Host puts up a fight." She stands up, takes my glass with her back to the kitchen. "I hope they will. There's job completion, and then there's glory, and buying out the local Host won't get us the latter."

"...that's it." I wave away her look. "No, I don't mean what you're saying, though that's reasonable as an assessment of what will impress your commander. It's in the way you stand up. The person I saw back in the Flowers Tether is a Seraph."

"You're sure?" She refills my glass. What did I do to deserve this? Aside from the default level of evil that comes with being a demon.

"No. It's a hypothesis based on interpretation of evidence. Work with me here. A Seraph of Flowers... That's a potential problem. There aren't any nearby buildings tall enough to get a bead on someone inside the gardens. We want to make sure she stays away from plan A."

"If she's had Forces ripped off, she won't be good at suppressing violence." Regan frowns as she hands me the new glass. "Tracking a Seraph is difficult."

"Another type of angel, I'd throw Katherine at her to keep an eye on the fluffwing's comings and goings. But not a Seraph. Too much chance of her reading more Truth than we'd like known." I can't do the artistic glass-dangling Regan pulls off; my Band's not known for grace. I leave the Scotch on the coffee table, on the stone coaster, where it will neither mar Regan's elegant furniture nor draw attention to itself for being full. "Now, if we throw an inconvenient Shedite in that direction, we could have two problems solving each other. A Fleshless can keep ordinary angels twitchy and distracted, much less pacifists."

"You should track it down," Regan says. As much an order as a suggestion, from the way she says it. Which I don't mind when she leans her head on my shoulder. "If it's playing in your classroom--"

"It may have already identified me, yes. Or that I'm worth watching." I can go hunting after school. At least my current job doesn't take up so much time as my old. It doesn't interest me as much, either. I liked designing buildings, even if they were meant to be death traps of flammable decay. "That aside, we need move on the basic steps to weaken Stone's hold on the area before we push directly. Since we have a paucity of drug dealers--"

Regan shuts me up in one of her most effective ways. "Leo," she says, once she's letting me breathe again, "I move that we discuss this in about an hour. We have all night to go over the details."

"You're in an odd mood." I'm more surprised at her decision not to pursue my earlier outburst than the way she's methodically unbuttoning my shirt.

"I've been doing some thinking lately. I do that on occasion, you don't have to look so shocked." She sits back, and her jacket falls open far enough that I can see pistol and knife both underneath. "Not every battle's best won with a frontal attack, and I'm applying that logic to other obstacles. We'll take out this Tether as subtly as we can, and if all else fails, we set the place on fire and see how much of the neighborhood goes up in flames. I'm planning on tearing down all those buildings once I own the property anyway. It'll save me a few steps."

I can follow her twisty lines of thought, out of practice and self-preservation. So she's decided to approach our old argument from a different direction, take a new tack on convincing me I want to serve and die for Baal, General of all Hell's armies. I prefer my own Prince, who expects us to not die for him, but make the other side go down in flames first. What I can't figure out is what her new plan is. "As long as we're discussing strategies--"

"Not anymore. Shut up, Leo."

This is why she keeps giving me orders: I'm so good at taking them from her. It comes with practice.


	5. In Which The Balseraph Is Not The Paranoid One

The disadvantage of looking for someone is that I have to actually look; there's a cheap paperback copy of _Northanger Abbey_ in my hands, but I'm spending more time watching the kids on the playground than reading. So far Katherine's managed to fall off the monkey bars, bowl over a smaller child while running for a vacated swing, and slug an older boy who wanted to contest her swing grab. Who needs a Shedite when the humans cause so much trouble on their own?

After a week and a half of no more signs, I'm beginning to believe the Shedite's skipped town, only a Thief or other wanderer stirring up trouble before moving on. In a city so heavily controlled by the Host, I can't blame any demon for deciding to keep moving.

"Leo!" The assistant principal strides over towards my bench, letting her two children loose on the playground on the way. "How's it going?"

"Morning, Silvia." I move Katherine's discarded jacket out of the way so that the woman can sit down. "Taking advantage of the weekend, is all."

"It's a beautiful day." She tilts her head up towards the sky after sitting down. "Not a cloud to be seen... Some people will complain anyway. The lake's so low, we were hoping for a wetter winter. Looks like it's going to be another dry one."

I'm sitting at a playground discussing the weather with a coworker. And I have to remain...pleasant. While this day could get worse, it would probably involve a triad of Judgment showing up. "Problems with drought of late?" I tuck my right hand into my jacket pocket to keep from picking at a rough spot on the wooden bench.

"These last two years, yes. They're talking about water rationing next summer if the situation doesn't improve. Which won't help any for city growth." Silvia brushes a fleck of dirt off her pants. "It's still a nice city, though. A good place to raise kids."

"That's the idea." Katherine's now involved in an argument over a second swing with one of this woman's children. They haven't come to blows yet, so it's not worth bothering about. "It's the sort of city people come from, not one people move to. Safe. Boring, but safe."

"Mm. But you moved here, didn't you? What brought you off to a safe, boring city that's three miles north of the middle of nowhere?"

"Followed my girlfriend here." Nearer the truth than I'd like, that bit of Role backstory. "I needed a larger place anyway, so between cheap rent and good schools..." Katherine smacks the other kid across the face, and the two of them collapse into a heap of awkward fighting. "Katherine! Stop that!"

Silvia follows me over to the swing set, pulls her own kid up. I yank mine out of the fight by the collar of her shirt. "Want to tell me what this is all about?"

"He tried to take my swing!"

"Did not!" The little boy, maybe a year younger than Katherine, dissolves into tears. "I did not! I asked for a turn!"

Silvia's other child watches, hands in his pockets, and catches my gaze. What a smug smile that boy has. He winks when I look at him, then wanders off towards a group of children playing basketball on one of the courts.

Katherine yanks free from my loose grip. "He _did_ try to take it, and it's _my_ swing, I was here first!" She's near tears herself, hands clenched into fists. "It's not fair--"

"Shut up, Katherine." I grab her wrist. "Go play with something else. Now."

"But I was--"

"Now." I squeeze harder, not enough to bruise, but a warning. She shuts up and nods. Scampers off to the slides the instant I let go of her wrist.

"Sorry about that," I say to Silvia, over her younger boy's sobbing. "Katherine can be difficult, sometimes."

"Don't worry about it. These things happen. Maybe you should talk to her about it." She pats her child on the back. I leave her to the comforting, and return to the bench.

After a few minutes, an old man sits down beside me, and smiles. "Are we having fun yet?"

"You're not really trying for subtle, are you?" I pull out my book.

"I could have approached you earlier. I thought it would be more fun to see how long it took you to notice. That it took _this_ long... Well. I'd hoped for better." He shakes his head sadly. "And after I went to all that trouble before."

"Before, as in back at the school, when you were shifting between students in my classroom."

"You did notice!" He sounds absurdly pleased. "Why didn't you contact me earlier, then? We have _so_ much to talk about."

"Oh, let's see. To begin with, you could have been a Kyrio. Second, I was trying to teach a class at the time. What did you expect me to do, go off somewhere private with an individual student for a chat? I'm not that stupid." Both of us quiet as a woman storms by with a wailing child in tow.

Once she's safely out of earshot, the Shedite goes back to grinning at me. "Bet you can't guess--"

"Factions."

"...you're no fun at all."

"And you have no sense of self-preservation, do you? Head-hop people this blatantly in a city with a Stone Tether, and you'll get some Forces sheared off."

"What do I have to fear? They're not going to hit first. Especially when I'm sitting inside one of their precious humans." He offers me a hand. "You can call me Consty."

I shake the hand briefly, more for appearance's sake than any desire to deal with such a fool as this. "You already know my Role name." Which happens to match my real name, thank you _so_ much for that hint to anyone who might go looking for me. Some day I will find out which Servitor of the War passes out Roles to Servitors, and I will hurt him. Repeatedly.

"Mine's a nickname," he says. "It's short for Istanbul. Get it?"

If Regan doesn't shoot him, I might. "Why are you going to all this trouble to get my attention, Consty?"

"Like you say, this city's lousy with angels. I figure our kind needs to stick together. Work towards one goal, that kind of thing."

"You expect me to believe an offer of cooperation from Factions?"

"We can work with anyone who supports our goals. I don't believe I'm the only one around here who's taken an interest in that Stone Tether. When it comes to taking down that hidebound blowhard David, we're the best. Barely takes effort to push a dedicated group of stick-together morons into a frothing band of insular morons who'll attack any outsider who gets near them. And turn on their own for any different of opinion." His default expression seems to be smugness. "You know what's funny? That it's hard to tell the difference between the two. The only difference between a group supporting Stone and one supporting Factions is how eager they get about doing in their fellow man. We're the logical conclusion of every community."

"Hilarious." I flip a page in my book. "I'm sure you'll have fun working on that. But if it's so very easy, and you feel so very safe, why are you coming to me? To share the glory around when you finish your work?"

"I'm only trying to be helpful. We're both working on the same goal. If we coordinate our efforts, we'll be that much more effective." Consty smirks, spreading out his hands. "And look at it this way. If I noticed you and your partner, it won't be long before someone else does. I can do your close-in work much more safely. Meanwhile, you two can do the, I don't know, other work. I assume there's more to taking down a Tether than stirring the local humans into a froth."

"This is your first Earth assignment, isn't it?"

"No!" The Shedite frowns. "Well. My first assignment on my own, yes."

"Consty, let me explain something to you. There are Tethers out there where every human involved in what made them Tethers in the first place has died or moved on. And those Tethers still linger. You don't shred a steady connection to the celestial by stirring up a little discontent and strife in the area. Annoy the Seneschal and cause trouble, yes. Kill the Tether? No."

"I know that. But it _helps_." The Shedite checks his host's watch. "So maybe you need some time to think it over, ask your partner about this. I can wait. Plenty of things do in the meantime. How about we meet again some time this evening? If you're interested in dealing, we can work out details of who handles what. If you're not, well, no hard feelings. Call it nine o'clock, same place. No one's going to be out in the park that late in December."

"I'll think about it." And recommend to Regan that we shred this annoying Corrupter before it gets caught and gives our details to the Host.

"Will you be there?"

"If I'm not, you can take that as a no."

"Couldn't ask for more than that." The old man stands up, and winks at me. "Beginning of a _beautiful_ friendship, Leo. That's what it's going to be."

I wave him away, and turn over the advantages of an untrustworthy Shedite of Factions while waiting for Katherine to grow bored of the playground.

When we get back home, I send the kid off to watch TV and head out again myself. There are some details that shouldn't be discussed over a potentially insecure phone line.

Regan answers the door with a cell phone in hand, waves me inside. Frowns at something on the other end, and hangs up. "Do you want to hear the good news or the bad news first?" she asks.

"Good news first. I could use some today."

"As soon as word breaks about the new munitions plant, they'll be sending in another Servitor to give us a hand. Mostly backup security, on the theory that the local angels will be bouncing around trying to figure out what's going on. She has a Role lined up as an assistant to the executive in charge of the project. She's also your cousin, according to the Role. Convenient excuse for meeting up."

"I sense a caveat coming up."

"When being sent reinforcements, it's better if they're worth a damn. They're sending us Yejide."

"She's competent."

"She has one Ethereal Force. She can barely string a coherent sentence together!"

"Okay, so she's also an idiot, but she's a _competent_ idiot. And Lilim can be useful."

"We're outnumbered and working undercover. What we need is someone clever and careful, not a brain-damaged Tempter to babysit." Regan folds her arms. "I hate it when the Captain plays favorites. Some of us get by on skill and results, not a pretty face."

That Lilim watched my back often enough on the battlefields of Gehenna that I wouldn't consider her success due to her charms. I'm not about to say this to my girlfriend. "We keep her away from sensitive areas, point her at anyone who needs shooting, and everyone stays happy."

"Neither of us has time for babysitting. You've already picked up a useless pet. We don't need two."

"I'm sure we can go explain this to Captain Savas, and he'll be entirely understanding about our viewpoint on the matter." By which I mean Regan's viewpoint on the matter; while I dislike some Lilim, Yejide's never tried to lay a Geas on me. Nor does she try to order me around. I push off my shoes before propping my feet up on one arm of the couch, stretching out to where I can stare at the perfectly clean ceiling. "Face it, Regan, if he wants us to take care of his favorite Lilim, we'll take care of her and pretend we're happy. Want to hear my news for the day now, or are you still complaining?"

That only earns me a momentary glare. "Found our Shedite?"

"In the flesh. Or lack thereof. An idiot Servitor of Factions. It claims to be working on the Stone Tether, and asked to meet up with us tonight to discuss strategies. I recommend we get rid of it. No sense of caution, it knows who I am, and it knows enough about you to mention my 'partner' a few times. Fond of setting two humans to fighting and watching the results."

"That's supporting our work, Leo. Why should we get rid of it? Let it spend its time helping us do what we were planning on already..." Regan shoves me far enough out of the way that she can sit down on the other end of the couch, and does not object when my head ends up in her lap. "Can't stand Factions, but we don't have to work with it, only point it in a useful direction. If it's as much of an idiot as you claim, it shouldn't be difficult to manipulate."

"Factions, Regan. I don't have anything against them in principle, but trusting one to do what it agreed to is like sending a Kobalite to a convention of nuns and telling it not to do anything funny."

"I didn't say we should _trust_ it. I don't intend to meet it in this vessel. But if it already knows your Role, we're better off trying to use it than attacking directly."

"If you'll excuse me for a moment while I attempt to process this... I'm the one suggesting the violent solution, and you're suggesting we be sneaky instead? Who are you, and what have you done with Regan?"

She snickers, and twists her fingers through my hair. "Neither of us is inflexible in strategies. I'd prefer to spend my time working here or keeping an eye out for roaming Malakim, not chatting up small humans. I loathe dealing with mortals. They're so simple-minded."

"If you want to meet with the Shedite, I'll play backup, but I don't think it's a good idea. Too many risks. Including the outside chance that it's a Kyriotate playing games."

"All the more reason to meet it, then." She presses a thumb against my throat, increases the pressure until I swallow. "I'm bored, Leo. I haven't fought anyone in weeks, and that last human was less than a minute's work. If the Shedite stirs up trouble, it'll shake out something for me to kill."

"That's not a good reason to give this Shedite a free pass."

"No, it's not. But I don't intend to. We'll use the Shedite until it ceases to be useful, and then redirect any hostility we can't deal with in its direction. If Stone takes out a Shedite of Factions, they'll be sure they've caught the cause of any trouble they've had."

"You're assuming we can manipulate the local angels well enough to point them."

"No, I'm assuming you can. You're clever. When such a step becomes necessary, you'll already have that contingency plan worked out." She smiles sharply down at me. "You're good at making other people take the fall for you."

"Not nearly so good at it as you are."

Regan actually giggles at that. "Don't tell me you're still upset over that vessel you lost. It was over a year ago."

Truth be told, I'm more annoyed with other details. That betrayal gave me dissonance, got me into trouble with my Prince, and ended with me loaned out to the War. I know better than to be too honest with a Balseraph. "It was my first vessel, Regan, and I was doing a good job of holding onto it. Right up until you talked me into staying behind when everything went boom."

"It's not my fault if I'm a persuasive speaker." She drums her fingers on my chest. "I need to speak with a few people in person. Moving this quickly on land acquisition has made certain property-holders suspicious, and now they're jacking up prices or refusing to sell. They'll be more reasonable once I point out how depressed the current real estate market is. They don't have the capital to make the land profitable."

"Never thought I'd see you turn into a banker, Regan."

Her eyes go flat. Oops. "The financial aspects are relevant only so far as they affect our mission. You were the one who suggested this to begin with."

"I'd be doing it myself if my Role could justify that sort of cash flow." If there were a friendly infernal Tether anywhere in the distance for a daytrip, I'd suggest she stop home for a few hours of bloody warfare. Get her out of my hair for a day, let her blow off some steam gutting damned souls, and overall reduce the chance of us blowing our cover through combined stress buildup. And if wishes were dollars, I'd be able to afford sturdier pants. Let's see, useful methods for avoiding bloodshed... "How long do you think we'll have before we need to throw the Shedite in the direction of angry Malakim?"

"The faster it works, the more progress it'll make before it's shredded. We want it to go out and perform to the best of its sticky, divisive abilities. We'll be encouraging."

"By which you mean I'll be encouraging. Regan, you're the Balseraph. Why am I always the one who has to play liaison to other celestials?"

"You're better at playing friendly over long periods of time. Besides, they underestimate you. No one expects a clever Calabite. All the more their mistake."

"So I get to play nice with the Shedite, babysit the Lilim, teach the children how to snarl at each other out of sight of adults who'd notice... Can I have your job? Sitting in front of the computer swapping stocks and buying property? Because I like your job better. Especially the parts that don't involve--"

"Shut up, Leo."


	6. An Interlude, In Which Little Worth Listening To Is Said

Katherine checked the entire house twice, to make sure Leo hadn't come home while she was in her room. It felt wrong to go out without telling him, but he wouldn't be home for hours. He never came back soon when he went to see Regan. It wasn't fair that he'd spend so much time with someone who wasn't even nice to him, but adults could be funny like that.

Life didn't always make sense. Leo had told her that, when she asked why things happened. Life didn't make sense, life wasn't fair, life was a whole lot of bad and good with no reason for it. Like swimming in the ocean, he'd said. The waves didn't care if you could swim or not, so just keep your head above water however works best.

She climbed onto the counter, and found the cabinet with the nice glasses, the ones Leo only got out for Regan, and threw one onto the floor. Smash. Glass _everywhere_. The pieces crunched nicely under her shoes when she walked out of the kitchen.

The bus driver looked at her funny when she got on, but her bus pass was good, and he didn't say anything, even when she sat in the seats saved for old people and wheelchairs. Katherine watched out the window at every stop, so that she'd know when to get off. It wasn't hard to remember her stop because the whole block had high stone walls. None of the other stops looked like that.

Katherine got off the bus, and stopped by the bench to button up her jacket. Outside was much colder than in the bus, even in sunlight.

The tour guide leaned down with his hands on his knees to talk to Katherine. She scowled back at him. Adults only did that if they thought they were talking to real babies. "Are you here for a school project?" he asked. "Or to look at the pretty flowers?"

"No," she said. "I wanted to use the playground." He looked as if he might try to take her there, so she added, "I know where it is."

It took her two wrong turns, but she did find the playground. Ling wasn't there. Not in the greenhouse either, or in the hedge maze, or anywhere in the places where plants were only big brown sticks wrapped up for the winter. Katherine checked in the gazebo by the stream that kept winding back into its own waterfall, but the only people there were two women with cameras who talked about politics.

Katherine finally made her way into the big house in the center, where she'd never gone in before. It didn't seem the sort of place for Ling. The ceilings were high, and all the floors were wood, so her boots clomped in funny ways. Most of the doors were locked, and the gift shop had someone she didn't recognize behind the counter.

One door had a big red rope hung in front of it. Katherine ducked under the rope, found the door swung open at her push. The ceilings inside were even higher, and shelves of books ran all the way to the top, with ladders on racks to let people up there.

Katherine unbuttoned her jacket, and stepped further inside.

There was no one at all between the shelves that she could find. She pulled a book off the shelf, one with a bright red cover, and found its title didn't make any sense. Katherine set it down on the step of the nearest ladder, and continued further back.

In the back of the library, at a table by an enormous window with all its glass cut into odd shapes, an old man sat reading. Katherine frowned to herself. Maybe Ling was in one of the locked rooms. She began backing away quietly.

The old man looked up, even though she was being _very_ quiet, and smiled at her. "Hello," he said.

"I didn't know I wasn't supposed to come in here," Katherine said. Rubbed at her nose furiously as she realized that meant she _did_ know and had come in anyway.

But the man only said, "Have a seat. I'm afraid this isn't much of a children's library, but the view is lovely."

She sat down in the chair opposite from him at the table. The shapes in the glass made all the brown trees outside turn in funny ways, and it wasn't her idea of a nice view at all. "Sorry to interrupt," she said.

"Not at all. I was only considering winter preparations, and truth be told, the plans haven't changed much over the years." He offered her a hand so big it could swallow up hers whole, not like Leo's hand. (Not even like the way Leo's hands used to be, back when he looked different, but that was one of the things she wasn't supposed to talk about.) "My name is Iris."

"Like the part of the eye?"

He laughed, and it wasn't the sort of laugh most adults used when they thought kids were being silly. More honest than that. "I suppose it is, but it's meant to refer to the flower. What's your name?"

"Katherine. With a K, not a C."

"Tell me Katherine, what brings you to these gardens today?"

"Are they yours?" It was a very big house, and had very big gardens around it. She remembered some talk of how much the place cost when Regan was visiting. Anyone who owned such a big house had to be rich.

"No, I only take care of them. There was a woman who owned this place long time ago. When she died she wanted someone to keep up the gardens, and let everyone in to see them. Ever since, someone's had to watch the place, to do it just as she wanted." The old man with the name of a flower looked down at her with his big fluffy white eyebrows, like the fake kind on the Santa Claus in the mall, except his looked real. He could have looked like Santa Claus entirely, if he were fatter and had a beard. "But you didn't answer my question. What can I help you find?"

"I'm looking for Ling. I met her when I was here last, and she drew me a picture, and she was going to email it to me, but the school email won't let me open attachments, so I never got it, and I was hoping maybe she could give me a file on a disk to open there or print it out?"

"That's easy for me to help you with." Iris stood up, and put out his hand for her, the way Leo did when he wanted to go right away. "I believe she's upstairs. Shall I take you there?"

"Yes, please."

The wooden stairs wore a carpet down their center, black with red roses and green leaves in a pattern, and spread wide enough that both of them could walk together side by side. "I like stairs," Katherine said. "I wish we had some at home. Two stories are better than one."

"In that case," said Iris, "you'll be pleased to hear that Ling's room is on the third floor."

The second set of stairs was narrower, and the carpet was only old, raggedy green. "I wish I could live here," Katherine said. "It's a nice house. It's nicer than _our_ house."

"I'm glad you like it." Iris did not offer to let her move in, which had been a small chance anyway. "Here's Ling's room." The door was mostly closed, with cords running along the floor through the part that was open. "Ling? You have a visitor."

The door swung open, and it was Ling, in a long black coat and sweatpants, even though the house was warm inside. "We need to get a wireless router," Ling said. "Also, I changed the color scheme on the website. Something with more of a winter feel, to complement the text. Also, I am out of hot chocolate."

"'lo." Katherine folded her arms tightly.

Ling looked down, and smiled. "Katherine. I'm glad to see you again. Come in."

Iris patted Ling on the shoulder. "I'll get you more hot chocolate. Please don't _completely_ redesign the website. You'll give some of our older regulars fits if they don't recognize it."

"I'm introducing a beneficial change," Ling said, and turned to walk back into the room. Katherine followed along behind, aware of the sudden lonely feel when Iris left. "However, some plants react badly to being repotted, even if you've placed them in better soil. Introduce change gradually to avoid negative side-effects. Did you like the picture?"

The monitor on the desk was a big flat-screen one. Definitely rich people. Katherine sat down on the bed, running her hands along the patterns of the quilt laid there. All the animals from Noah's ark, but not together in pairs, so that she had to find and match the lion with lioness, chicken and rooster. "I didn't get it. The school email won't let me open attachments."

"No, of course not. That makes sense. A reasonable security precaution. I saw the suffix on the email you gave me, so I knew it would be coming from a school. I should have thought of that."

"Oh, don't be sad! It wasn't your fault."

Ling sat down at the chair in front of the monitor. "I don't think of things, sometimes," she said. "Things I ought to remember or think of. I find it..." She waved her hands in the air, like little wings. "Frustrating. That's the word."

"Maybe you'll get better at learning things?" Katherine folded her hands tightly in her lap. "I mean, my teachers tell me that when I get older stuff I don't understand now will make more sense. So maybe you'll get better at it too. The thinking and remembering."

"I might." Ling's face turned from sad to happy, just like that. "I'll print you out a copy of the picture, since you couldn't open the attachment. Perle picked up a ream of photo paper for me so that I could print out some of the pictures I've been taken, and it'll come out nicely on that."

Katherine went to lean over Ling's shoulders while pictures flashed across the screen. "You draw a lot?"

"When I have the time. I usually have time. They don't give me many chores." Ling frowned a little, not a serious frown, only a concentration one. "I know I transferred the files from the tablet to the desktop computer. It must be somewhere on this drive. I ought to use a more consistent naming convention."

"I wish I didn't have to do so many chores. I have to load the dishwasher, _and_ put the dishes away." Ling did not seem shocked by this injustice. "And if I break anything, I have to clean it up." Still no shock. Katherine leaned further over Ling's shoulder. "What was that picture?"

"Which one?"

"The, um, man. Standing under a tree. He looked kinda grumpy."

Ling flicked back through a few files. "This one?"

"Right. What's that a picture of?"

"A friend of mine. One of my oldest friends. Except he wasn't always my friend. It's complicated." Ling closed the file, and opened another. "Here we go."

"But he had _wings_."

"Yes." Ling busied herself with feeding appropriate paper into the printer. "It should only take a moment for me to change the settings on this."

"Why did you draw a picture of your friend with _wings_?" They weren't even fluffy white wings like pictures of an angel, but weird ones made of blue lines branching out like lightning.

"That's private, Katherine."

"But I'm curious."

Ling turned in the chair to smile at her directly, as the printer begin to whirr away. "Don't you have any secrets? Anything you don't talk to other people about?"

"...I guess." Secrets upon secrets, all the things she wasn't supposed to know, wasn't supposed to understand, had been told not to say.

"Then it's mostly like that."

"I don't get it."

Ling leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "That's because it's a secret."

Katherine bit her lip, and wondered, if she told Ling her secrets, would the girl tell her those other secrets back?

Then Iris opened the door, with two mugs of hot chocolate. "Though why you'd want anything hot when the temperature in here is so high I don't know," he said, passing them out carefully with no spilling. "Katherine, how long will you be staying here?"

Everything in the house felt safe, like no one bad would come through the door. "Just until dinner," Katherine said. "I need to be home by then. I can take the five-twenty bus back. I checked the schedule before I left to make sure. If it's okay for me to stay that long?"

"You can stay as long as you'd like," said Ling, and Katherine wasn't sure why Iris looked at the other girl funny after that. Not like she'd said something wrong, more like he wasn't expecting to hear that.

"There you go," Iris said. "An open invitation. We're happy to have you." He smiled again before he left. Exactly like Santa Claus, or like grandfathers on TV.

Katherine picked up the big mug of hot chocolate, and took a careful sip. It wasn't even too hot. It was perfect.


	7. In Which Mistakes Are Made

"Well," Regan says, right as he pulls up to the curb to drop me off, "that went well."

I could reiterate all the reasons why working with a Servitor of Factions will wreak havoc in our plans. I could also go shout at a wall for a few hours for approximately the same effect and level of stress relief. "In the sense that no disturbance sprang up, we weren't jumped by the Host, and I'm the only one risking a Role with this Shedite... Sure. Remarkably well."

"You never used to be such a pessimist." Regan clicks the door locks open. "If it causes problems, we'll kill it. Simple as that."

I was much more of an optimist when I was still working for my own Prince, and not being dragged through the schemes of the War. "Simple as that." I step out of the car into a cold wind that turns my breath to mist. It's three blocks home, listening to the wind in the trees.

The lights are off, but the TV spreads a glow to reveal Katherine curled up on the couch in the living room. I flick on the overhead light. "You're up late. It's past midnight."

"You didn't come home all day." She won't look at me. "After you left you didn't come home for lunch or for dinner or for bedtime. So I waited for you."

"Should've gone to bed, kiddo." I pick her up off the couch, pry the remote out of her hand, turn off the television. "Good thing you don't have school in the morning."

Her arms wrap around my neck loosely, and she still won't look at me. "I don't like going. They're just going to suspend me again anyway. And I only like the computer class with the teacher who talks to us like real people, not like we're babies. Why can't I stay home? That girl down the street is home schooled. We could do that."

"Because you'd watch television all day, learn nothing, and the nice people in business suits would show up to haul you off saying I couldn't take care of you properly." I deposit her in her room. "Now, tell me what you did."

"Watched TV," she says, staring at the ground.

"Katherine, this has been a _very_ long day, and I don't have the patience for this right now. Tell me what you did, so that we can get you to bed."

"How can you _tell_?"

"If I told you my ways of knowing you've been up to mischief, you'd be able to avoid those signals, and then what would I do? Once you've figured them out for yourself, you can fool me all you want." I fold my arms, and wait.

"Broke a glass," she says, in a small voice. "One of the nice ones."

"Just one?"

"Yeah."

"Why should I care about that? I have two left. Break whatever you need to feel better, so long as you can deal with not having it anymore. Make sure you've cleaned it up before you walking through the kitchen in bare feet. Now go to bed." I close the door behind me, don't bother to lock it. If she wants to sneak out to watch more television in the middle of the night, she can deal with being half-asleep tomorrow on her own.

I gather a spare lighter from the kitchen, and return to the cold outside.

The house I rent backs up against an empty lot of weeds and debris. Beyond that, the so-called lake borders a park, dry mud banks displaying how low the drought's taken it. At the far west edge of the lake there's a dock, nearly dry, where they rent out paddleboats in the summer. That's where I go to sit and think when it's the middle of the night and I have no place to be. Sit up beside the rental shack, and I'm invisible to anyone who wanders through the park at this time of night.

I light a cigarette, lean back, and spend my time thinking.

I don't usually smoke; I dropped the habit back in college, an act of rebellion the Habbalite supervising me didn't even notice. Unnoticeable rebellions were the only sort I could get away with. It wasn't bad, as my life stages have gone. Serving a Habbalite ranks low on my list of preferred occupations, but it wasn't Hell, and the college classes were...fascinating. All the useless things one could spend a semester on. Nineteenth-century literature, child psychology, formal logic. And oh, the chemistry classes, a thousand and one ways to make things go boom. Back when Regan was an entertaining Balseraph I ran around with wreaking havoc, and the power dynamic between the two of us held equal.

The cigarette burns low in my fingers. I toss it in the lake, light another. The actual smoking seems pointless; I can't get addicted, I don't like the taste. But the fire, that's satisfying.

My Prince has loaned me out, tossed me to the War to be tangled in their schemes. More than a year now, and I still can't figure out how to win his approval. Won't get credit for my plans if they come into conflict with orders from Baal; my Prince has issues with insubordination, don't they all, and I can't guarantee his notice without something spectacular.

Pity it's so hard to burn down a Tether. Somehow, the Seneschals always take it badly.

The second cigarette follows the first into the lake. The water's pulled so far from the banks that I have to flick the butts out to make sure they hit water. In an area this dry, I could set vast swathes of the surrounding landscape on fire, be sure that it would consume a good portion of the area before they put it out. Send Katherine to the right place with a lighter and can of kerosene, and I could do it without disturbance. I haven't the access to explosives I'd need to destroy a Tether outright, but a Stone Tether centered on a community should tremble when its neighborhood is in flames.

On the other hand, the Seneschal could rally the locals into coordinated effort, put out the fires expeditiously, and strengthen the Tether through the dedicated fight against a common foe. Which would earn me no praise from Baal or Belial. Some days I almost wish I were less intelligent; thinking every plan through leads to trouble on the fringes, no matter how I rearrange my strategies. Arson is simple. Dealing with the aftermath, less so.

My life made more sense when I only had to keep one Prince happy.

Cigarette number three hits the mud just short of the water. Not that I'm managing to keep Belial happy. I never took dissonance until Regan left me in a building wired to explode and surrounded by Malakim. Now I've had to work off dissonance three times in the last year. All my plans coming back to burn me, when my own safety takes a back seat to Regan's mission parameters. This cannot be helping my case.

Subtlety and flashy attention-grabbing ploys don't accommodate each other. I won't have a chance to impress my Prince as long as I'm working for Regan's. Simple as that.

And she wonders why I've become such a pessimist.


	8. In Which It Is Christmas

Eight in the morning, and I'm playing with a sketch for a better way to make a building explode. I'll never have a chance to try it out--I'd need several thousand dollars worth of equipment even before the cost of black-market explosives--but working out the details keeps me entertained. I'll hang onto the design for a few months, in case another Servitor of Fire should wander by; better someone else get the credit than it never be used at all. The destruction ought to be lovely, a dramatic low explosion with upper levels collapsing inward. Noisy, smoky, prone to secondary fires breaking out, likely to damage the foundations of any building adjacent to it. Best on reinforced concrete, though. You wouldn't want to use this on a wooden structure unless you like picking splinters out of your hair six blocks away. There's such a thing as overkill.

The voices from the living room take on a different quality from television noise. Regan and Katherine, which means I'd better head in there before anyone ends up bleeding or crying. I stow my notes under a stack of books. Business couldn't wait until tomorrow?

Regan hasn't bothered to take off her coat. She smiles when I enter. "Morning, Leo."

"Morning. What's up?"

"It's Christmas. So I brought your kid a present." She's unbearably smug.

Katherine, on the other hand, is cooing over the contents of a slim silver case.

"...you bought her a gun."

"Don't worry, it has a safety. I included a silencer, so your neighbors can mistake it for television noise." Regan tosses an arm over my shoulders. "Perfectly safe. As long as you seem determined to keep her, she might as well learn how to be useful, right?"

"You bought the eight-year-old a _gun_." I'm not sure if that's admiration or horror in my own voice. "Katherine? You're not allowed to take that to school."

"No problem." The kid's already fiddling with it, and drops the clip out. "This is better than what anyone else got for Christmas, I bet."

"It certainly is." Regan bends down to reload the gun, and spins the silencer onto the barrel. "This is the safety, this is the trigger, point it at what you want to hit. Simple enough. Don't try looking down the barrel until I teach you how to clean it."

"Awesome." Katherine scrambles to her feet. "Leo, can I go outside and try it out?"

"No. You want to play with the gun, you'll have to do it inside, or wait until I can take you somewhere private to practice." I grab my own jacket from the rack. "Don't shoot anyone while we're out, understood?"

"Got it!" She waves the gun around in one hand. "Pow. Pow. _Bang_. What can I shoot?"

"Try the wall. The _back_ wall." I redirect the enthusiastic gun-swinging to a direction other than me. "Have fun, stay inside the house, I should be back in time for dinner. I'll call otherwise."

I wait until we're both in the car before moving on to the obvious question. "Where are we going?"

"There's disturbance buzzing not far from my condo," Regan says. "Once or twice I'd ignore, but it's been off and on for hours. Some celestial's having fun, and we ought to say hello."

"It's not anyone from the Stone Tether. They'd be quieter."

"I'm not talking about business, Leo. I'm talking about taking a break from work to have fun ourselves." I recognize this grin from back in college. The result usually involved fire alarms, the police, and a mad dash back to the Tether to coordinate alibis. "We'll stop by, see who's at play, and maybe it'll be worth our time to get involved."

"My idea of fun doesn't involve jumping angels."

"Honestly, some days you act like you're still seven Forces and no Earth experience. The War demands proactive behavior. Try it."

"Whereas Fire demands not getting yourself into trouble with your own plans, and of the two, I prefer my dissonance condition. Remember that incident with the Mercurian? There are _benefits_ to being able to run away from a fight."

"It's a bad habit." Regan hits the brakes as a kid dashes out into the street following a ball. "Idiot humans. It's a wonder enough of them live to adulthood to continue the species."

"They have numbers working for them. And consider it a part of evolution. If the stupid ones get killed, eventually the whole species will become brighter."

"Can't happen fast enough. You know what this country needs? A good civil war." Regan's voice turns fond. It occasionally concerns me that my girlfriend shows more affection for battle descriptions than she does for me. "North vs. South isn't quite what it used to be, but with a little effort one could divide the whole country into warring groups of states. Say, two major oppositions and various not quite neutral parties. Convince a few generals to defect, and you'd have plenty of military on each side to war it out, militia groups and armed citizens aside. The difficult part would be keeping it from ending too quickly in a blaze of nuclear strikes." She laughs. "Though that would make Belial happy, wouldn't it? Nothing like the power of those to warm his heart and further his Word."

I hated the endless battles of Gehenna, but I don't want the wholesale destruction of nuclear war either. What's the use of an explosion so dangerous you can't watch it? And I _like_ the corporeal plane, much as I hate to be Bound and trapped here. A month in Gehenna cured me of any nostalgia for Hell quickly enough. "Not a bad idea," I say. "Now, if you want me to plot out how to instigate a civil war, I'll need more time. Even I can't work out how to start a proper war with staying power in under a month."

She glances over at me. "You think you could?"

"Hey, I'm not promising anything. Psychology and explosives, not politics and military affairs. I can't be an expert on everything." The idea is enticing, more for the sheer audacity of it than the potential results. "Messing in national politics can be difficult with the number of watchers on both sides. You'd need serious resources, a hundred contingency plans, reliable assistants... And quite frankly, it's more Factions than the War to stir up that kind of trouble. Taking advantage of the results and making sure everything devolves properly into violence, that's the War's side of things."

"You sound excited."

"It would be a long-term project worth boasting about, if it worked properly. Spend a decade putting the right people into place, swaying public opinion--you'd need the Media wholly behind you for this to work properly--and then, at the right moment, the spark that sets off the whole powder keg. Sky high." I grin at her. "Now, if you want me to come up with a plan to send Canada into a multi-year bloody civil war, that's going to take more work. I'm not a miracle-worker."

"You could come up with something. All those French issues." Regan parks the car in the private garage beneath her condo complex. "Contrary to popular belief around here, Canada does have a military."

We trek towards the source of disturbance on foot, taking care on the frost-slippery sidewalks. The destination turns out to be the mall, still closed at this time on a holiday morning. Regan pauses at the entrance to the underground parking garage. "Down, I think. Though what anyone could be doing here at this time of day..."

I look up at the signs hanging over the entrance. "...Wind. We're dealing with the Wind."

"How can you tell?"

I point up. "They've swapped out the signs to contradict what the painted arrows say." I move inside cautiously. No trace of anyone on this level, but every directional sign has been replaced. Some more subtly than others; the one pointing further in for the exit nearly makes sense with how convoluted parking garages are, but who's going to believe the top level is the second sub-basement? A whisper of disturbance behind me; Regan's swapped out vessels. I drop my voice lower as she stalks along behind me. "Wind means they're only here for three days, tops. We can ignore them."

"Or we could engage, and possibly dig up more information on the local Tethers. Don't be such a coward." She takes the lead, and what can I do but follow?

"I like to think of it as a sense of self-preservation." I shut up when we hit the stairwell. Never could understand what the point of the Wind was. Exactly like Theft, except somehow holier on account of being angels, which makes as much sense to me as the Archangel of War. Apparently mass murder is a good thing if you get the right people to sanction it. I don't try to understand Heaven, but it does sometimes irk that they can get so self-righteous about doing the same things we do, as if being angels makes theft or murder or, knowing Gabrielites, setting people on fire, a _good_ thing. At least I don't have any illusions about what I do.

And do the Windys need to add more chaos to a shopping mall right before the post-Christmas returns and sales rush? Annoying people to all hell and back gets on the list of approved angelic behavior.

Regan puts a hand to the door handle on the bottom floor, stops. "Stay back a ways," he says quietly. "If I can take care of this myself, no need to get bloodstains on your clothing. If by some chance I can't, I'd rather they not know you're coming."

"My favorite kind of plan." I follow him out the door, and then hang back as he strides briskly on into the dim garage. Even down here the air's cold enough to carry a bite, if one tainted by old exhaust fumes. I can't hear Regan's footsteps as he walks. Now there's a skill that'd be worth picking up.

Once Regan rounds the corner to the second half of this level, I meander towards the curve, not worried about being heard. Knowing Regan...

...yes, that disturbance _would_ be from Corporeal Shields slamming active, and Regan's sword coming out. More than one of them, then. I heard Windys travel in packs.

I check around the corner. Regan's fighting inside a bubble of Shields with some teenage girl--some celestial, given the lack of disturbance when the sword rips through the girl's arm--while a tall woman with a knife jitters nervously to the side. Two we should be able to handle, judging by the way Regan's slicing up the angel he's trapped.

Pay no attention to the Calabite in the corner. I fold my arms and wait. No one's looking in this direction. Looks like I'll be stuck with corpse disposal again, but Regan will be in a good mood for days.

"Fuck _this_ ," says the woman with the knife, and vanishes in a rattle of disturbance. Or at least her vessel vanishes; she's a shadowy figure with black-feathered wings, and steps through the whirring Shields.

We're dealing with a Malakite of the Wind? Maybe this won't end so well.

The Malakite pulls her vessel back on, and now that's two against one inside the circumference of that circle. Regan's fast, beautifully fast, but the thin girl who's bleeding so heavily can dodge behind the attacking Malakite.

I know my cue when I see it. There's an angle of approach where only Regan can see me, and he catches my eye, positions himself so that neither of the other two can afford to turn back and look this way. He curses in Helltongue, vicious and steady, loud enough that they won't hear the scuffing of my shoes on the pavement.

My resonance reaches through the whirling shields as easily as the angel stepped through them. The ground beneath the Malakite's feet cracks, crumbles, sends her staggering back against the barrier. Enough time for Regan to ignore that angel's knife (bloody now, I can see that much from here) and feint, slash, stab.

The angel in the teenage vessel slides off Regan's blade, eyes wide, against the wall of air. Falls to her knees, coughing blood, but my favorite Balseraph's already turned to deal with the Malakite again.

The shields vanish. Time's up. If Regan had told me we were going to hunt angels, I would've brought Katherine's gun.

Not my turn to play, though. Regan's suffering nothing worse than a thin slice down one arm, and if the Malakite's not damaged yet, she's not holding off Regan's attacks well either. Can't help to have only the reach of a knife against that sword.

Regan's kind enough to keep the Malakite turned away from me. I wait, hands in my pockets, to see if I'm needed. This isn't my type of entertainment.

"I intend to kill you," the Malakite says, voice clipped. I believe she's upset about the other angel's vessel death.

"What a coincidence. I have the same intentions towards you." Regan's back to smiles, his sword flickering about, so fast I can barely follow the feint-feint-attack patterns. He's playing with the Malakite, a dangerous game I disapprove of. Kill her now so we can see if she has another vessel. "If you want to make this more entertaining, we could continue the fight where it matters more. You have no reason to fear Trauma, so I imagine you have a hard time taking corporeal combat seriously."

"I think I'll pass." A rattle of disturbance as the Malakite lunges in, blade flashing--finds herself pushed back by Regan's brisk parry.

"I'm starting to wonder if you're even _trying_ , little Virtue." Regan's smile glitters. "Would it help if I closed my eyes, or swung more slowly?"

"Don't taunt the Malakite," I mutter. Another burst of Essence, and the Virtue springs forward, in what would be an impressive lunge if I weren't turning the pavement to broken rubble beneath her feet.

"Pathetic," Regan says, snapping a red line along the Virtue's shoulder. He turns the fight, either forgetting about my position or no longer caring, and so I turn along with him, staying to the Malakite's back as she takes uneasy steps out of his blade's range. "I didn't expect much from the Wind, but from a Malakite, I'd hoped for a real fight."

"Sorry to disappoint you." The angel shifts her weight, and then dodges left, goes running.

Regan stands there, staring. He looks downright offended. "...she actually _ran away_?"

"Two Tethers, and who knows how many other angels in this town," I snap. "Does the term _reinforcements_ mean nothing to you?"

Regan nods, eyes narrowing, and takes off after the Malakite. "Wait here."

"But what if--" He's already out of range, and I'm not about to start shouting confidential information in a parking garage, deserted or not. "Bastard."

A gurgle behind me draws my attention away from thoughts of what I'll do to Regan if the Host shows up here while I'm alone. I turn around. "...huh. Not dead yet, are you?"

The angel who fell first looks up at me from where she lies on the ground, blood on her lips. "Not. Yet."

"Can't have that." I don't have any weapons on me, and I'm not about to get my hands bloody touching her. One splash of entropy ought to take care of this problem.

She manages to resist it. I'm impressed. Entropy whirrs hungrily around me, and I let it splash across a bloody patch of pavement. "Fire," she says. Tries to wipe her mouth clean, can't quite make the arm function properly. A sword through the chest will do that to you. "No disturbance."

"You're a clever one." I crouch near her, to her back where she can't get a look at my face. "Let's see. Your vessel is nearly dead already, but our kind _does_ heal fast, so I can't simply leave you to bleed. Which means I'm going to get this jacket all bloody."

"I would apologize if I was actually sorry." She doesn't sound angry, only frustrated.

"If you were. Don't abuse the subjunctive. I'd expect better grammar out of an angel."

"I wouldn't have expected a Calabite to care."

"We all have our own little quirks." I finally see what I was looking for, and pull the slim knife out from where it's strapped to her leg just above the ankle. "There we go."

"What, no torture?"

"I'm a busy guy." I slice through her throat, and avoid most of the blood. "Besides, it's not one of my quirks."

I stand up when I hear footsteps from the stairwell. "And?"

"Slippery Windys," Regan says, waving me towards him. I make good time in his direction with the promise of reinforcements to keep me running. "Between that and the disturbance--"

"We're about to have the Host pouring down, yes. Back to your condo, or further?"

"The condo will do. They don't know your look, or my other vessel." He grins, and pulls me along by the wrist when I'm not moving quickly enough for his taste. "Now that was fun, wasn't it?"

"If by 'fun' you mean a completely pointless risk--"

"Can't let angels run around doing whatever they want," Regan says. "They start thinking they run the place." We're nearly at the top stairwell, but he pauses, shoves me up against the wall. "You understand, don't you?"

"This probably isn't the best time to have a discussion of tactics. The Host. Reinforcements. Two Tethers. Remember?"

He kisses me, and in pulling back bites through my lip. "There," he says. "Now you're bleeding too. It's equitable." I'm dragged along by my wrist again before I can process this, and we're out into the open air, hurrying down silent streets towards his place. "Good work on the assist," he adds, not looking back at me. "I could have taken care of them by myself, but you made that go faster. You can be quite useful when you bother to focus.

 The problems he brings down on us. I lick blood off my lips. "Always happy to help."


	9. An Interlude, In Which I Am Immensely Grateful That Certain Parties Have Incomplete Information

An Interlude, In Which I Am Immensely Grateful That Certain Parties Have Incomplete Information

Enon skittered along the pavement in the body of a rat, sniffing at the bloodstains. "Someone will have to take care of this mess," it said, from the Soldier's body it wore. "I don't believe the demon will be back to clean up, convenient as that would be for our purposes."

Kelly shook her head. "I don't think he'll return. He has to know this city is our territory. Long-gone by now. I don't even know why he showed up in the first place. Stepped up and the next thing I knew--" She sighed, and helped the Kyriotate lift the body. "I can't believe I failed that _miserably_. Every time I nearly had him, I was tripping over my own feet."

"We're not surprised. The ground here's been so broken up, we're hard pressed to keep this host from stumbling." Enon opened the trunk, and was as gentle as Kelly in laying down the body. "If we did not know better, we'd have guessed you two were playing with explosives."

"Oh, I can blow up a door as well as the next Windy, but--" The Malakite stopped abruptly, and spun around to stare at the ground. "That... When we came in here, it wasn't _like_ that. And I would have noticed if anything exploded."

Enon-rat scurried over to check the broken pavement. "Huh," it said from its human host. "Were you fighting a Calabite?"

"I don't think so. It couldn't have kept up that kind of attack while trying to target its resonance, and it was too neatly dressed to be dealing with an entropy field." Kelly crouched down to pick up a fragment of concrete. "No disturbance, either. I would have heard the disturbance. Even while distracted."

"Perhaps we are mistaken." The rat ran up Enon-human's leg to sit in the jacket pocket. "Recall that Belial's Destroyers make no disturbance with their resonance. Could there have been a second demon?"

"I...suppose there could have." The Malakite shut the trunk, and leaned against it, staring at the floor. "One staying out of sight while I was distracted. But why wouldn't it join in the fight? Or attack me directly?"

"Perhaps it would have, if you'd done better in holding off the other." Enon shrugged. "Demons have strange motivations. We do not try to understand them. Will you be staying long, in case this demon or demons remain in the area?"

"I mean to take a hard look around, but I can't stay more than a few days." Kelly climbed into the front of the car, accepted the keys from Enon. "If I give you a description, can you keep an eye out?"

"The Seneschal has already called us in to search for a Shedite in the area. While we've had no luck on this matter, it is simple enough to expand our search criteria. Dalphon would appreciate news of any who pass through the city." The Kyriotate wiped the Soldier's hands clean of blood. "Perhaps the demon you encountered was the Shedite. If so, we may have little luck finding it from your description."

"No, there wasn't any disturbance when I hit it. That was a demon, no human host." The Malakite put on her seatbelt before starting the engine. "Maybe a very _tidy_ Calabite. My resonance didn't say for certain."

"If we encounter him, we shall observe for signs of his Band before engaging, in case he should be a powerful demon. You will give us a description?"

"I'll do what I can. The lighting was bad." Kelly took the car up and out of the garage the wrong way around, screeching around a corner. "It was so...random. Which, speaking as a Windy, is saying something. One hint of disturbance, and then next thing I know Nip's inside someone's Song of Shields getting poked full of holes. Don't you think that's weird? That someone would jump us in the middle of a Heaven-controlled city, for no reason?"

"Demons have strange motivations. We do not--"

"Try to understand them, right. I'm only saying, it's strange. We weren't in a place they could run across us accidentally."

Dalphon met them in the empty lot a block away from the dojo, with a shovel. "This couldn't have been avoided?" he asked unhappily, as Enon pulled its Forces out of the Soldier.

"Hey, the other guy hit first." Kelly stomped around to the back and opened the trunk. "Believe me, I'd rather not have run into him either. Nip's never been through Trauma before. I'm supposed to be keeping her safe, not running her into demons who want to cut us to ribbons for no good reason. Or at least unknown reason."

"Maybe they take traffic jams personally," Ronda suggested.

Three angels, one in the body of a rat, stared at her.

"I'm just saying! It's a theory, that's all." The Soldier threw up her hands, and went stomping off into the dry weeds. "There's a spot back here near some rocks we can use so that we don't end up with a stray dog digging up the body. Enon, are you keeping watch?"

The rat squeaked in the affirmative, and slipped out of Ronda's pocket to go do whatever a Kyriotate did under such circumstances.

"I'll head over to the Flowers Tether once we're done," Kelly said, "to tell the Seneschal there. They ought to know if there's a demon in town, and a violent one at that."

"Why," Dalphon asked, "are they going to hug him?" His shovel bit down into frost-hardened dirt. "By all means, go tell them, but I wouldn't expect any _useful_ assistance from that direction."

"Maybe not. But they should know." Kelly helped the Soldier carry Nip's body from the trunk while Dalphon dug. "I'll stay here two more days, and then I'm going back upstairs to wait for her to get out of Trauma. If you don't mind me using the Tether--"

"Not at all." Dalphon worked deeper into the ground. "Of late, nearly all my attuned have been in danger, if a distant one. There's a threat here that needs to be eliminated. A Malakite in the area would be a relief."

Kelly nodded, and stopped to retrieve Nip's wallet from the body. "Somewhere out there, I know there's someone I want to have a good long talk with," she muttered. "When I have the chance, a _very_ long talk."


	10. In Which Things Go Suspiciously Well

Katherine's crying, having moved from angry sobs down to fitful tears. "But it was an accident!"

"You know the rules. You break it, you bought it." I finish extracting the bullet from the center of the television set. Wouldn't do for someone to find that and wonder; I'll give the whole set enough entropy to make it a mess before dumping it in the garbage. "You know how to use the safety."

"It's not _fair_." Katherine finally turns off the tears, glowering at the television. "What am I supposed to do when I'm at home?"

"I don't know. Read?" I pull on my jacket. "If you're bored, you can read any book in my room except the ones on the top shelf. Or set something unimportant on fire. Whatever you'd like."

"That's so boring." She drums her heels against the sofa. "Where are you going?"

"City council meeting. The city wants to make a formal proposal to have a company build a new munitions plant here, and now the city council needs to run the zoning change and proposal past the locals for approval."

"What are munitions?"

"Weapons, kiddo. Bombs, ammunition, guns..." All the sorts of things to make a Servitor of the War vibrate from sheer joy.

"Oh." Katherine pokes a piece of glass with her shoe. "Since this is already broken, can I break it more?"

"Yeah, if you want to. Go ahead." I lock the door behind me when I step outside, and wait for Regan to show.

She doesn't get out of the car when she arrives, only waits for me to climb in before speeding off again. "We need to get good seats," she says. "Somewhere near the front. I want to make sure I can speak freely if anyone raises a fuss. Not that they will, the city desperately needs this economic boost, but just in case."

"Who's willing to speak out against the first new influx of capital this city's had in years?" I pull off my jacket before putting on my seatbelt; Regan's turned the heat inside the car up high. "Stone has no reason to object. Flowers might, but I can't see serious attention being paid to representatives from a set of gardens. The Host may be in power here, but not politically."

"So far as we know."

"...so far as we know, but given how many permits and what not the company had to go through to get permission to build here, I think that if someone in the Host had infiltrated the local government and also objected to the plant, more problems would have come up by now."

"I suppose." Regan's jittery enough to not hide it well. The bright confidence in her voice tells me how important this meeting could be. "The city's rolling over and baring its throat for a chance at this plant. A few hints that this place is only near the top of the list, not the first choice, and we'll get more concessions. Objecting locals will be shouted down by their own neighbors."

"Unless our friendly local Shedite of Factions decides it's more fun to rile them up."

"...there is that possibility. But then we get back to plan A."

"I think that if we start killing all the opposition, someone would notice." Regan smirks at me, and I amend, "Even if we killed enough other people that the pattern wasn't obvious. Besides, mass murders could leave the company execs feeling less confident about building here."

"They'll build where we want them to."

I have somewhat less confidence in Hell's ability to control large corporations without any snags in the plan than Regan does. As usual, it's not worth debating the point, so I go back to the patented tactic for dealing with Balseraphs: smile and nod.

We're earlier than I thought reasonable, and the parking lot's full. So the mortals in this city are taking interest in matters that concern them for once, or enough of them to make us park the car two blocks away. Regan actually waits for me to get out, and offers me an arm. "I expect you'll be taking notes on any opposition. Make sure to watch for anyone we know is connected to one of the Tethers, and their reactions even if they don't speak personally. You'll want to--"

"I'm not _stupid_ , Regan." Nor do I like being dragged across slick sidewalks.

"...mm. Of course." She drops a kiss on my cheek, and doesn't slow down. As near as she comes to an apology. "I'd prefer to have closing words, but they shut down the sign-up sheet after a certain number, so I'm two-thirds of the way down the list. By now the council should be ready to sell their own children to Andrealphans for a chance at this facility, but there's always a chance of last-minute changes in perspective."

We reach the front gates again, making our way past the rows of badly-parked cars. "This parking lot was designed by monkeys." One SUV's been parked across two spaces, and I toss out a splash of resonance to shred the back tire. "Can you believe someone was _paid_ to draw up a layout this inefficient? Not to mention the design of the grounds; you have to wonder if they were getting kickbacks from body shops to encourage maximum collisions."

"Why do you care? You don't even drive." We knots of neighbors standing outside in the cold to chatter in the relative quiet. Regan smiles at a few, generally the ones dressed to show off their superior economic class.

"I'm only saying that I could construct a better design on a napkin with my eyes closed." Or a worse one, if that was the assignment, but that's not the point. (Yes, I can see a few ways to tweak the lot for more confusion and collisions before drivers realized the design was at fault.) "Let's hope the plant doesn't hire the same guy."

"Shut up, Leo." We push through the glass doors into the foyer, and the noise rises as rapidly as the temperature. Regan's grip on my arm tightens. "The meeting hasn't started, and people are already becoming...excited. If Consty came here despite what we told it--" She maintains her pleasant expression as we sweep closer to council members. "Go find us seats. Near the front."

Some day, I will find a way to be in charge in this relationship for once, and even if it doesn't last, that will be a beautiful thing.

But not today.

In the auditorium, I find two spare seats three rows back. (The front row's nearly empty. No one wants to sit in the front row except the obligatory busybody and the tinfoil hat brigade.) The jacket Regan dumped on me goes to mark one seat, I leave my coat on the other, and then it's time to check out the rest of the crowd.

The council members I recognize from earlier research; that's as familiar as any faces in the room get. Human faces all start to blend together in crowds. I can peg the main concerns of most of the room with one look. That one's going to go for Think Of The Children, the other will start comparing anyone who disagrees with him to Nazis, _that_ guy's liable to start discussing aliens if not quickly suppressed, she's brought a folder of diagrams and statistics to discuss... And not a thing one of them says will matter. We've wrapped up the deal; we're just convincing people they always wanted what we've decided they're getting.

At five minutes until start, the remaining seats begin to fill up. I catch sight of a teacher from the Stone Tether, no one we've had reason to consider important yet. Unlikely that the Seneschal would wander this far from the Tether, but she might be an aide of one sort or another. I pull out my notebook, already looking rumpled from the few times I've used it, and dutifully jot down the information.

"This seat taken?"

I look up, find Silvia standing there. "No, not on that side. I'm only holding the one."

"Thanks." She squeezes past me in the too-narrow aisle, pulls off her jacket as she sits down. "I couldn't leave until my husband got home to watch the kids, and I was afraid there wouldn't be anything but standing room left. I haven't seen a crowd like this since they brought up the sales tax proposal." She pulls out a PDA and stylus. "I only hope we don't end up with a shoving match like we got in _that_ meeting."

Regan will kill me if I do anything to disrupt this meeting, but that doesn't keep me from _wanting_ to. See how long it takes for people to panic if the roof crumbles over them. I will be good, and only pick at the loose plastic on this chair's arm. "Let's hope not. How's Mrs. Dawson doing, now that she's back in classes?"

"Complaining they haven't learned anything while she was gone, but that's typical." She's taken me a moment to categorize, but she's slotting neatly into the Concerned Civic-Minded Mother category, on the reasonable side of things. Unlikely to say "Think of the children" verbatim, likely to have researched the issue beforehand. "I heard you're filling in for a fifth grade class over at Madison Elementary. How's that going?"

"Younger children are easier to work with." Two minutes to start, and Regan's still engaged in last-minute persuasion out in the foyer. "Katherine's expressed her heartfelt joy that I'm not subbing at _her_ school."

"I can imagine. My boys will no doubt bewail their fate when they hit junior high." Silvia frowns. "There's more fighting than usual going on at school. I wonder how much of it is overflow from economic pressures at home. It's been a hard year all around."

"Any particular issue they're brawling over, or typical preteen hormones?"

"Hard to say." Which she doesn't mean; she's choosing not to give her assessment of the causes. That idiot Shedite's still pushing its agenda to stir up trouble between the martial arts students. More useful would be tension between students of the same school, but perhaps that can come next. Declare a cause, ostracize anyone who isn't fervent in support, and then crank up the loyalty demands until you're left with nothing but a handful of fanatics.

How one would distinguish this from your typical group of Stonies and their followers, I couldn't say.

Regan finally settles next to me, smirk tempered by an attempt to not look _quite_ that smug in front of the humans. "This should be entertaining."

I resist rolling my eyes. "Oh, a laugh and a half, I'm sure of it." Silvia leans forward to see who I'm talking to, and that means it's time for the obligatory introductions. "Silvia, this is Regan Kotova, my girlfriend. Regan, Silvia Ortez, assistant principal at the school I was subbing for in December."

"Pleased to meet you," Regan says, shakes hands politely. She swaps out her smirk for an charming smile. "What's your take on the big issue of the night?"

"Haven't heard enough information to be sure yet," Silvia says. Not the response I expected. "I'm here to listen, not put in my own two cents. If that company decides to build here, that'll change this city. Whether that's good or bad... Hard to say without more evidence, and I suspect some we won't know until--" She breaks off as a squeal of feedback from the microphone at the front breaks through the crowd's chatter. "Looks like we're starting."

The obligatory prayer offered by the religious figure of the week begins, and I settle down for a dull evening.

Three trivial issues run through presentation, debate, and vote in under ten minutes each, with the people who care about them glared down from the microphone one after another. A constant background rumble of whispered conversations spreads under every speaker.

The head of the committee finally stands up, smoothing her skirt nervously, begins the presentation... And I'm not the only one looking around to see how others are reacting. The whispering's turned quieter through the discussion of the new plant proposal, bursts of volume spreading through the crowd as certain points (estimated new jobs, local construction firms under consideration by the company, environmental regulations adhered to, tax breaks to encourage the company to build here) appear.

Fifteen minutes later, the committee head turns the microphone over to the sign-up speakers. A groan ripples through the congregated citizens as the first speaker steps up to the mike: he's been the first one up for every issue on the agenda already. Who knew a man could care so passionately about when the pools open next summer?

I tune out his babble once I've determined his stance, and watch the crowd. Even the annoyed listeners nod when he speaks of how much the city needs this plant. As predicted, majority vote's swinging heavily in favor of the proposal. I doodle out abstracted plans for explosive placement if I wanted to take out this building, hypothesizing on the design of the foundations and areas I haven't seen. Directly following we get the "I haven't been employed in eight months" discussion, a brief word from the resident loon, a "Think of the children!" with an economic slant, then a long-winded drone that gets called on his time limit.

I prefer humans when they stick to literature and leave the decision-making to those who get things done without talking about it for three hours.

At the hour and a half mark, the natives are getting restless. Those with sense keep their remarks short and to the point: those without find themselves suffering under impatient glares. Our representative from Stone (unless she's only happens to work at the Tether, no relation to Heaven, and I'd wish for a reliable way to determine which if it wouldn't be used against me in turn) hasn't spoken, only listened. To my right, Silvia makes thoughtful noises at the more intelligent points, taking notes on her PDA. I've moved on to detailed plans for burning down the entire city with a coordinated set of starting positions and weather permitting. (I'd need more humans to make that work; Katherine can only do so much. She should make some pyromaniac friends at school.)

A matronly woman I'd pegged as a "Think of the children" takes the front, and turns out to be hippie-flavored instead. I make a note of her name, Pearl Fletcher, for future research. Discussion of the military-industrial complex, environmental hazards, long-term side-effects and pollution and she might as well be sporting a Greenpeace button and tie-dye skirt. No, Flowers won't appreciate a massive facility for building weapons of selective destruction a few miles from their Tether. Time to take a closer look at that Word and how to deal with them. Even peace-and-love idiots can be find a judge to grant an injunction. (Note to self: present this to Regan in such a way that her first solution is _not_ to kill off the staff of their Tether. Do we want Servitors of Novalis blanketing the city? No, we do not.)

...people are listening. Most of them have faces set into firm disagreement, but they're listening to this woman speak, unlike the bored buzz that's surrounded other speeches again. That means something, and I don't know what. I lean over to Silvia. "Any idea who she is?"

"She's not a friend, but I've seen her around," Silvia murmurs back, eyes on her PDA. "Works at a...preschool, I think. Or maybe a daycare. Shows up to most of these meetings, though usually she doesn't speak."

No position of influence or authority. Which raises the uncomfortable possibility that people listen to this woman because they trust her personally. We don't want humans to listen to reasonable ideas and consider the impact, we want humans to follow their herd instincts and do what everyone else agrees to. I wish we had an Impudite handy to do the glad-handing and building social networks. Regan's as suave and convincing as she wants to be, but she doesn't have the patience to build relationships with humans.

Our little peace-monger sits down. "Wish me luck," Regan says lightly, confident that she doesn't need any, and stands up as her Role's name is called.

She's beautiful up there, even if no human-shaped vessel can show her serpentine glory. My girlfriend has a clever smile, a thousand perfectly-chosen words (they should be, I wrote most of them for her), and when she's in front, people listen.

I've written out a set of convincing arguments for her, calculated to appeal to a broad audience succinctly, touching on popular issues and focusing on areas where the point hasn't been beaten to death. Commerce and city growth and property values, a reason for teenagers to stay here after graduating instead of fleeing for greener pastures, the beginning of a series of improvements. She spends longer than I wanted on tax issues, speeds faster than I'd written through the obligatory reference to family values, but overall it's a lovely presentation.

When she finishes (and a minute early of her time limit, out of deference to boredom), eager buzz springs up to cover the next name being called. Silvia taps her stylus across one knee. "Quite the speaker," she says; I can't tell if she means that in approving or suspicious manner.

"Entirely out of my league," I agree. I don't have the elegance or looks for holding the attention of an audience like that.

"Mm. Not quite what I meant." But Regan's sitting down now, and the woman doesn't choose to elaborate.

"So. How did I do?"

"You're a convincing speaker." And more convincing when she was speaking privately with various council members. Her resonance, like most demonic ones, works best on individuals. "How many more on the list?"

"Too many." Regan's done her part, and now she's bored. "We might get out of here in another hour if we're lucky."

I keep track of the rest of the discussion, but everyone in this room knows it's only a matter of form. The final vote approves of the proposal with no votes against and two abstentions. When the session closes, I make hasty farewells to Silvia, then hurry to catch up with Regan's beeline for the exit.

"Nothing to worry about," I say, once she's tucked her arm into mine. "I mean, aside from peace protestors lying down in front of bulldozers, or injunctions from a local judge, or any of the dozens of other things they could do now, but this part? Wasn't anything we had to worry about."

"You say that as if I was ever concerned." Regan's smile means she's now convinced she never was; give it five minutes and she'll have recast me as the one fretting over tonight's events. "Let's head back to my place and review your notes."

"I ought to get back home to make sure Katherine hasn't set the house on fire." The foyer's jammed with people exiting or blocking the exits while they chat, and our resident hippy speaks urgently in a corner with one of the council members who abstained from voting. Neither of them looks happy. I pull out my notebook to make sure I get his name down in connection with hers.

"If she sets the house on fire, I'll buy you another one. This news is about to spike the real estate market, and I have plans to unload a few uninteresting properties next week." Regan's hand settles on my wrist to remind me that she has two Corporeal Forces on me. "You can call on the way home. If no one answers, call the fire department."

"True enough," I say, before she decides I need bruises to remind me who's in charge. She lets go to put her jacket on once we push our way outside. "Now that the vote's gone through, how long until the company announces its building site?"

"There are proposals from other cities to entertain, counter-bids to wait on... Call it a month." Maybe we ought to do follow-up discussion with the locals, but neither of us is in the mood to deal with more humans tonight. We break free of the crowd, out into the parking lot again. (The owner of the SUV parked across two spots has just climbed into his behemoth of a vehicle, but I don't have the liberty to wait for the aftermath.) "Which means one month until that moron shows up as 'assistance.' Might as well make the best of it."

The sidewalks have grown slicker as the temperature drops, and I don't mind that Regan's holding my arm now. "You think she'll try to steal the credit?"

"She would. She's been given the easy task of pushing around executives we already own, while we have to deal with more subtle tasks."

"You're only jealous because right now she's back home shooting people, and you're not."

Regan blinks, and for a moment it's a battle between offense and amusement. I'm lucky enough to see the latter win out. "You may be right," she says, and laughs. "There's nothing to worry about from her. She has to check her own tags to remember her name." She stops to kiss me, nearly as much warmth as possessiveness in that for once. "So let's get back home and work on our next priorities."

I let myself be pulled towards the car while human babble fades into the cold air behind us. If I have to be leashed, this collar isn't so terrible as some.


	11. An Interlude, In Which Opinions Are Divided

The Mercurian put down the receiver of the phone gently, and sighed. "We're not receiving any support from that quarter, Perle."

"I was afraid of that. It was worth a try." Perle pressed a cup of tea on him. "In my less charitable moments, I wonder if he takes opposite stances on neutral issues, simply to be contrary. It seems characteristic of Stone. So ready to stand against all opposition, they'll create opposition where there is none." She poured herself a cup as well. "But this _is_ uncharitable of me, isn't it?"

Iris shrugged, the china cup tiny in his hands. "I wish I could say that's nonsense, but there are days..." He shook his head. "How far are we willing to oppose this, Perle? I have a Tether to protect, and much as I abhor the thought of this facility being built so near, I don't know that our resources are best used against it. We aren't proposing that they built it not at all, only that they build it _elsewhere_. I'm loathe to put that sort of influence in a place worse equipped to deal with it."

Ling looked up from where she sat on the floor of the old kitchen, bare legs pale against the dark wood. The tablet computer in her lap held an unfinished sketch of thriving weeds. "Is it inevitable?"

"Such a loaded term," Perle said, and poured a third cup for the little Seraph. "Iris has a point. While we ought to oppose this on principle, making so much trouble that they build elsewhere will result in only that, building elsewhere. Such a large facility would be welcomed by any number of cities."

"We ought to fight the root causes," Ling said, stirring her tea with the stylus. "Pruning a branch redirects the growth to another section, when we need to uproot the whole tree to stop the leaves from falling on our lawn." She sucked on the end of her stylus thoughtfully. "But leaves turn to mulch, and the lawn grows greener for them in the end. A bad metaphor."

"Not so bad as all that." Iris chuckled, and sat down on the floor beside her, his apparent age belied by his grace when no humans could see him move. "You have a good point. We're combating the symptoms to lessen the effects of the disease, but we'd be far better off if we could cure the disease altogether."

"I was disappointed in the vote," Perle said, more to herself than the others. "I'd expected better of that man. Not one of them dared to vote against the proposal, and of three I would have trusted to know better, one voted for and two abstained. He only _abstained_."

Iris looked up from the floor, and smiled sadly. "It's no small task for a human to reject the opinions of his peers. This can be strength, as Stone so aptly demonstrates, but when it pushes a man to silence for fear of disapproval, the social group turns into a trap."

"He _should_ have voted against the proposal. Beliefs you're unwilling to stand up for are only opinions." Perle pulled out a chair from the table to sit near them. "The question remains. How far do we want to fight this? I can have the paperwork ready to request an injunction by tomorrow morning, there are protest groups we could contact... We aren't helpless."

"Give me a few days to consider," Iris said. "Our Lady has given me a specific responsibility, and much as I would like to support her Word in all ways, that must be my priority."

"I could go talk to Dalphon again," Ling said. "I like him. He cares so much, even if not for me."

"Best not to." Perle stared out at the dark garden beyond the kitchen window. "He has his reasons for wanting the facility here. A community that pulls together to get through adversity can only survive for so long when the economics fail. The influx of money would serve his community well in the short run. No small number of those people would be happy to take construction jobs, and then factory jobs."

"Short-sighted," said Ling. "But humans live such short times, maybe they need to look shortly." She leaned her head against her Cherub's knee. "I could bring him a flower. Maybe he'd like that."

"Very kind of you, but I think it's best if you leave David's Servitors alone."

"Best for whom?" Ling stretched one arm across Perle's lap, smiled when a hand wrapped around hers. "Maybe he'll be happier when we bring the rain. It's been a dry winter."


	12. In Which Nothing Good Can Last

Twenty minutes before the lunch break, the principal's secretary knocks on the door. "The principal needs to speak with you. I can take over the class for you until lunch," he says, in the stilted polite manner of someone who doesn't want to make a scene in front of the kiddies.

I offer a smile calculated to let the children know how fake it is. Let the little brats whisper to each other about it for the rest of the period. "Thanks. I'll see what's up."

The principal of Madison Elementary is a man of about my vessel's height who takes that as incentive to belittle everyone around him. It speaks of urgency that he waves me into his office immediately instead of making me wait at the child-sized seats. "We seem to have an incident on our hands," he says, by which he means _I_ have a problem.

I drop into the chair in front of him, and put on my best harmless-yet-attentive look. "What's up?" I'm reminded of the Djinn I used to work for, with her petty control issues. I wonder how Ylva came out of that last botched job. Probably not by working for another Prince. No, only _special_ Servitors get punishments like that.

"I received a call from Sunnybrook Elementary. For you." Katherine's school? I wonder if she's actually managed to set the place on fire. "There was an incident involving your...daughter? Sister? Ah, ward."

"Cousin," I say. "Younger cousin. Through my mother's brother, though that's not probably not relevant. What's dear Katherine gotten herself into this time? Don't tell me she's talking back to teachers again, I've _spoken_ with her about that."

He's not sure if he's being mocked. Watching his expression twitch as he tries to decide how to respond amuses me more than I show. He settles on generic disapproval. "This is a serious matter, Mr. Evans."

"I'm sure it is." I radiate pure intentions and a willingness to please authority. "Would you like to explain to me what this serious matter happens to be?"

"The child to whom you are legal guardian has attempted to burn down her school, Mr. Evans."

Well, good for her. I gear my expression down to faint concern. "Did she succeed?"

"...no, she did not succeed, but she caused serious damage, disrupted classes--" He pushes his glasses up on his nose. "Don't you have anything to say about this?"

I spread my hands. "Girls will be girls." Let's see, acceptable responses for this sort of situation. I'm not concerned with this man's opinion of me, but it wouldn't do to start strange rumors. "Was anyone hurt?"

"The teacher who called did not specify while on the phone," the principal says. He puffs himself up, proud to be the bearer of bad news. "Your ward has been expelled from her school, and needs to be picked up."

I nod, and then frown, as if a thought has just occurred to me. "Given there are only two public elementary schools in this city... I'll have to enroll her here next."

I take my leave while the man's still trying to formulate a response, thanking him for the news on the way, and go track down a bus route that'll take me to the other school.

Katherine's school takes longer, as I have to sit through meetings with the school counselor, a fire warden, the principal, Katherine's teacher, and other teachers hanging around the meeting for the gossip. The kid stares at the floor and mumbles at any direct questions she's asked. By the time they let us leave, I've convinced them I'm dreadfully concerned, willing to take any measures necessary to address Katherine's emotional problems, and in general a responsible (if overwhelmed) guardian for a troubled child.

We walk home together. I wait until we're several blocks away before grinning down at her. "Nice work, kid."

"I only got the one room," she says, frowning. "If I knew they'd get it put out that fast, I could've tried setting the fire in the extra classrooms out behind the playground while they were distracted." Katherine holds tightly to my hand. "It was a great fire. Maria started screaming like a baby, and one of the classes didn't stick to their line like they're supposed to for a fire drill, and they sent _three trucks_. Plus an ambulance, but there wasn't anyone to go in the ambulance."

"You're only eight. Plenty of time to get better at it. How'd you get the fire going that far before anyone noticed?"

Katherine giggles. "I asked to go to the bathroom, and I took my kitty bag with me, like I wanted to brush my hair, except I had the lighter and hairspray in there. Ms. Covey's room is always empty during the last period before lunch, because she goes out for long lunches all the way to home and back, so I set it there where no one would notice. And it _worked_."

"You're a marvel, Katherine."

"Carry me?"

"You're getting too big for that," I say, but I let her ride piggyback for a block before setting her down again.

She skips beside me, then turns to walk backwards in front of me, hands in her jacket pockets. "Now that I'm expelled, I don't have to go to school anymore, right?"

"Hardly. It means we enroll you in another school."

"But I don't _want_ to go to school. I'd rather stay home and watch TV. I mean, once we get another TV. Can I get a new TV now?"

"Not yet. Maybe if you'd burned down the whole school, but just one room? Maybe a bike."

"I don't want a bike. I want a television set, the flat-screen kind, and I promise not to break it if you get me one." She tucks her hand back into mine, as much manipulation as she can figure out. "My birthday's only a month away. It could be an early birthday present."

"I'll think about it." Money's going to be tight enough if I have to send Katherine on the bus to school instead of letting her walk. So how easily can I convince Regan that the kid's easier to keep out of her way with a television?

Speaking of my girlfriend, her car's already parked in the driveway. Not a good sign. "Katherine? Go play in the back yard."

"But there's nothing to do there!"

"Find something," I say, and the kid takes note of my tone, complies.

Chances that Regan's decided to stop by my house in the middle of the day to deliver good news? Slim.

I find her standing in the center of the living room, sneering down at the wreckage I haven't gotten around to cleaning up. "Afternoon," I say, closing the front door behind me. "What, do you have another body for me to dissolve?"

"Two things," she says. "First, the Captain's coming by to check on our progress."

"...why? Can't we just send him a _report_?"

"When he tells me he intends to show up in person, I'm not about to question his decisions."

"Or a phone call," I mutter. "That would be a reasonable way of checking on our progress." Our progress is slow and nigh-invisible, when it comes to wearing at the Stone Tether. I don't know what kind of results he's looking for at this stage.

"Not looking forward to dealing with someone of your own Band again?"

"Regan, I admire and respect the man, and I try to do so from a distance. Every time we're in the same room, I end up bleeding, no matter what I do, and you'll have to excuse me if I'm not looking forward to this." I'm fond of my resonance, but not of such a thing being used on _me_. Entropy should always spin outward, not rip me apart. 

"You don't know how to deal with officers of the War."

"No. I don't. Because I am a Servitor of Fire, last I checked, and the protocols of the War don't come naturally." More to the point, Captain Savas finds it entertaining to slap me around whenever I'm least expecting it. Sadistic bastard, if a clever and well-organized one. I would not cross him for anything short of a command from my own Prince, and even then I'd expect to get killed in the process.

"You'll have to learn. Which brings us to point two." Regan takes a folded sheet of paper out of her pocket. "I caught the news about the fire at the school. Katherine's been playing with matches again?"

I take the paper, unfold it. "Lighter and hairspray." It's a printout from a website, detailing the admission policies for a boarding school. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"This isn't an offer, Leo. I can't afford to have messy connections right now. That brat? Is messy. All sorts of messy. I don't want her causing problems for my job, and if you can't keep her under control, you can send her somewhere that will."

"She's under control." I stuff the paper into a pocket for later discussion with Katherine on matters of discretion and choosing one's targets wisely. "I serve Fire, my kid burns things down... What makes you think this is a _problem_ for me? You've known my affiliation since we met. Where's the surprise?"

"You are too useful to keep working for that idiot you call a Prince," Regan snarls.

Did she actually say that? Yes. No surprise that she'd think it, but that she'd say it to my face--it's a good thing she's stronger than I am, or I _would_ express my opinion of what she said right now in a physical manner. "My Prince is--"

"Destructive, a destructive _idiot_ who holds his place by burning down opposition without considering the long-term plans, and we are not going to win this War by using up our resources in his frivolous admiration for things going up in flames." I wasn't making a move, but she slams me against the wall as if I were. Maybe I should have tried. I should have tried. "I won't let you be wasted on that stupidity. You will serve the General as you ought if I have to drag you the whole way, and I recommend that you do _not_ make me do that, because I'm liable to be annoyed at the end."

I could happily go the rest of my life without ever feeling the awkward sensation of trying to swallow while someone stronger than I am holds me by the throat. "I'm loyal to my Prince. He's sent me to serve yours. So I do. That's as far as it goes."

"Do you think he cares? Think he even remembers your name? He's already sold you to the War, and all that's left is making it permanent." I can barely breathe, and she leans in close to tell me all of this. "You don't have a choice. You can throw a fit over the inevitable, or you can do what I say and get somewhere."

She's telling the truth. I can't figure out if I believe her because she's right or because she's resonated me into believing it. Downsides of dating a Balseraph, part one. Give me a decade and I can write out the rest of the volumes, with special annotations about Balseraphs of the War. "Regan? Neither of us has any Songs of Healing. Would you let go before I end up with bruises somewhere awkward to explain?"

I can breathe again. Better. Now. Ignore the screaming bit in the back of my head trying to convince me to do something stupid and self-destructive (destruction is for everything around me, that's an important point to keep in mind). I can be as calm as I need to be, and it's either that or stupidity. I will not be stupid. "All that aside. Why are you so concerned about the kid? You don't want her making noise while the Captain's in town, I can do that."

Regan stands so straight and elegant, close enough to make her point with force if I don't offer an agreeable response. "Your pet was useful while we moved from one place to another and there was reason to avoid disturbance. Here, she's a potential security leak, and she's distracting you from the project at hand. I am trying to be accommodating, Leo. Send her away now, and you can have her back when the situation's appropriate. That's a fair offer."

Don't send her away, and have another corpse to liquidate in the bathtub. Regan doesn't need to make the alternative explicit. "She's not a security leak at some boarding school?"

"We have Hellsworn there. The school feeds a healthy percentage of its students into a military academy as the children grow." Regan reaches for me again, but only to put a hand on my shoulder. "You're good with humans, and your pet will be a resource some day. For now? Get her out of my way."

I hate not knowing if I'm convinced by her logic or her resonance. Either way, I'm left with one choice. For a side in the War defined by rebelling against the will of God to go do our own thing, we've done a remarkable job of making sure we rebels have to do what authority figures tell us to. "Give me a few days to make the decision plausible, and I'll take care of it. You'll be funding this, right?"

"I already arranged a scholarship for her. Teach her to shoot the way she sets fires, and do so on command, and you'll have a useful weapon in another five years." When Regan kisses me, I don't dare show anything less than appreciation for her kindness. "I have work to do. Stop by tonight once the--once she's in bed, and we can go over the details. I want your input on the proposed renovations for that neighborhood near the Stone Tether."

"I should be there around nine." I offer a kiss at the door, wait for her car to pull away.

Then I start breaking things.

The couch takes a few touches of entropy to crumble into pieces, the coffee table fewer. All the assorted junk in the room, clothes and toys and dishes and newspapers, down to fragments. Everything falls apart in the end: I only help it get there faster. Everything and everyone will eventually crumble and fragment, only a matter of time. I can see some days how Factions can believe itself to be the inevitable conclusion to all connections.

Back in college, Regan and I could run wild through the city, supporting our Princes' Words as best we knew, finding out what there was to see on this corporeal plane. And now I can't even _object_ when she insults my Prince to my face. Doesn't take Factions to set us against each other, only our own desires.

Would I have tried to steal her for Fire, given the chance? I don't know. Maybe I would have done the same in her place.

Not that it matters. Empathy has never been a strong point for demons.

The back door swings open behind me. "Close the door, Katherine. You're letting the cold air in."

"Are you mad at me?" The door clatters shut, not well fit in its frame. The heating bill's going to be ridiculous this month.

"Of course I'm not mad at you." I swing her up into my arms. "I'm upset, but it's not at you. Something's come up, that's all."

"Are you mad at Regan?" So much hope in her voice, I could nearly laugh.

"No," I say, and spin her around as she clings to my neck. "I am only upset at the circumstances. Because I'd like to keep you here, but it's getting dangerous, and that means I need to send you away. I don't like that."

"I don't want to leave." Her grip tightens, a pale imitation of what Regan can do to me. "Why's it so dangerous?"

"It's the people who killed your family. We found out they're in the city, and now we need to deal with them." She trembles in my arms. "I don't want you to get hurt, Katherine, so I'm going to send you off to a school where you'll be safe. Until we can take care of this."

"Are you going to remember me?"

"Of course I am, kid." I'd like to set her down, but she's clinging. It wouldn't be a good idea to pry her away now. "How could I forget you? And we'll meet up again later."

"That's what Aunt Esther said. _She_ said she'd come back for me, and she didn't. Not ever."

It would be satisfying to do something about that, but I'm not about to track down a Djinn of the War and tell her to go play nice with a human she attuned to as a Cherub. Not least of which because dear Aunt Esther has beaten me near vessel-death on more than one occasion. "So just because she didn't keep her promise, you don't believe I'll keep mine?"

"I dunno." She hooks her chin over my shoulder. "Why do they have to be bad? Why do they do bad things to people? It's not fair. I never did anything to them."

Because they're demons, little mortal. That's what we do. "I don't know, Katherine, but don't be scared. I'm going to keep you safe."

"I'm not scared," she says. "I'm not."


	13. In Which I Do Not Have Time To Mope

Right in the middle of a downpour, someone hammers on the front door. I stop the search for an umbrella, and go to answer. Some random teenager, dripping in the icy rain. "Hey," she says, and smiles weakly at me, teeth chattering. "It's Consty. I seem to have run into an itty bitty problem with a Malakite. Can I come in?"

"...a Malakite? No, you can not. What are you doing at my _house_?"

The Shedite darts around me, dripping on my filthy floor before I can shove her back out. "I need a place to hide out until I can swap for another body, that's all, and I knew you were nearby. Oh, hey, is that the kid? What a cutie!"

Katherine looks up from where she's trying to buckle up her boots. "Leo, who's this?" She's been sulking all morning, and I don't expect that to improve on the way to the airport.

"No one important." I swap to Helltongue. "And what makes you think it's a good idea to lead a Malakite to _my house_ , Consty?"

"I think I lost her." The Shedite glances over her shoulder at the windows, as if she could see an approaching Virtue through the blinds. "But if I head out again she might see me, and it's raining so hard most everyone's inside, which means I can't swap to another host right off. Hey, do you mind if I borrow the kid?"

"Yes, I most certainly mind. We're heading out in five minutes." I remind myself that I'm supposed to be playing the good cop to Regan's bad (and why do I never get to play bad cop?), and sigh. "Fine, hang around in the house, try to be gone by the time I get back, and if you destroy my stuff, you _will_ find a way to pay for it."

Consty makes a show of examining the battered living room. "What am I going to do, make the pieces _smaller_?"

"You could come up with something if you applied thought to the matter." I crouch down to help Katherine with her boots, now that she's progressed from dawdling to pretending she can't get them on. "How'd you alert a Malakite anyway?" I leave the _you incompetent twit_ part unspoken. Aren't Shedim supposed to be good at subterfuge? Perhaps it's as inappropriate a stereotype as the one about all Calabim being idiot bruisers.

"I was checking out the disturbance by the Flowers Tether, to see if anything fun was happening. Turns out they're making rain. Did you know there's a Song for that? I didn't, but I worked out what was going on. Anyway, the Seraph goes back inside with the woman I figure's the Seneschal, and all the humans are starting to scatter with the downpour, so I figure I'll swap into the body of someone who has a good jacket instead of this useless thing, right?" Consty gestures with the damp woolen jacket she's pulled off. "But I can't get in, so I'm figuring, hey, strong-willed human, it happens, and then this chick looks at me, and all of a sudden looks like she's going to drag me off in a dark alley and stab me."

"I can't imagine why." Katherine's pouting over not being able to understand the conversation, but she's been pouting all day. "And then?"

The Shedite shrugs. "I tried to play dumb-dishonorable-human until I realized that wasn't going to work, and made a run for it. Swapped hosts and back again at a convenience store, but she might have realized I ducked back into the same host."

Regan's car pulls up in the driveway, and I head to the garage to open the door there. The Shedite trails along behind me, wet footprints all over the place. "So go play solitaire in the kitchen for an hour and then find a new host. I still don't see why you had to come _here_ to lie low."

"What, you don't believe I would want to come spend time with a friend?"

I throw an arm around the damp teenager and push Consty back into the house. "No, no I don't. But it's not worth arguing about. Now, if a Malakite should happen to break down the door while I'm out? I'd appreciate a call so that I know what I'm facing when I get home. You know the Balseraph's number." I switch back to English. "Katherine, our ride's here. Get in the car."

"Don't want to go," the kid mutters, but she stops out to the garage with the backpack flung over her shoulder.

"Try to stay out of trouble," I tell the idiot Shedite, and follow the kid out.

Katherine's a brat all the way to the airport, wails and clings when I have to leave, and generally puts me in a bad mood that's not helped by how _cheerful_ Regan is about the process.

Regan lets me sit in silence on the way back, while I put my thoughts in order. Being upset about what was said regarding my Prince: I have every right to that. Regan would have put a sword through my chest if I implied anything half that insulting about Baal. Having my toys taken from me: that's another point where I'm justified in my anger. This situation, where I have no more control than Regan chooses to give me? Understandably frustrating.

I can't figure out, though, why it bothers me to send Katherine away.

Maybe it's the power relationship. She fills the role of someone I can tell what to do. (But I teach classes, and order around a few dozen rowdy children every day. Would one more make a difference?) Or the thrill of someone else who appreciates destruction. Not death--Regan enjoys killing more than I do--but the pleasure in watching things break or burn.

Or maybe I'm too fond of my pet, and need a few months' separation to get some healthy distance. (Acknowledging the small fact that I'm going by demon standards of what's healthy here, not those of human psychologists.)

"By the way," I say, as we're stopped at a light, "Consty may still be lurking in the house when we get here. If you don't want to show off this vessel, drop me off a block away."

"What's that crawling slime doing at your house?" Even in her insults she's chipper. I don't like hearing Regan that happy; it's insult to injury. 

"Hiding out from a Malakite. Or so it claims; it was spooked by something near the Flowers Tether , but for all I know that was a Mercurian who picked up its place of origin. It should be gone by the time I get back, or I'll toss it out. There are limits to playing nice with Factions, and if it tries to sidle up to me and talk about what good friends we are one more time, I'll cope with the disturbance. What with the dead host and all."

"A Malakite?" Her voice turns brighter.

" _Possibly_ a Malakite, and if it's hanging around my house, the last thing we want to do is jump it. If it's the same one as we ran into last, she might have brought friends. We do still want to keep my Role secure, right?"

"Details." Her gloved fingers drum on the steering wheel. "Unlikely to be there when we get back, if it followed that Shedite, but there's always a chance it'll linger. How well can you play innocent shock?"

"Officer, officer, there's an intruder in my house, please come quick." I tilt my seat back to stare at the ceiling instead of out into the rain. "Consty also claimed the staff of the Flowers Tether sang up this rain. I wonder how much Essence it takes to do that."

"What, you're thinking of trying to jump them while they're weak?"

"Attack a Tether directly? Are you insane? Of course not. I'm only speculating. The Flowers Tether isn't high priority." I fold my arms to keep from picking at the interior of Regan's car. Three days until Captain Savas shows up, and we'd better have something to show him. We have plenty of setup, preparations strewn all over the place, but we're not looking pretty on the actual results.

"It would be entertaining, if it could be done. Blow an entire Tether sky-high. You'd get a chance to play with explosives again."

It would almost be a pity to take out the Flowers Tether, if it came to that; I have no particular fondness for gardens, but the house in the center has accumulated architectural styles so gracefully that I'd rather not see it burn. There are several more burn-worthy buildings in this city. "If you only wanted me to play with explosives, I'd have a plan drawn up for you by now."

"Tell you what," Regan says, with a sweet smile for me. "If through some hideous twist of luck the munitions plant ends up not being built in this city after all, we can spend a few days talking humans into the right state of mind and burn the place down entirely."

"You say the nicest things."

"Don't I just?" Our progress slows to a crawl as we reach an intersection with two lanes blocked off due to a crash, and a sour-faced policeman in a raincoat directing traffic. "You might as well move into my condo, at this point."

"Regan, you're a neat-freak and I'm a slob. Three minutes after the first piece of dirty laundry hit the floor, I'd be wrapped around my Heart because you would have just stabbed me to death. In all the time you've known me, when have I been a person you'd want as a roommate?"

"You're clever enough to learn not to drop things on the floor."

"Okay, so after three weeks of remembering not to drop things on the floor we'd _both_ be back at our Hearts because I'd gone stir-crazy and wired the building to explode while we were in it. There's clever, and then there's self-control, and while I have a fair amount of each, I know my limits." I find a chewed pencil in the pocket of my jacket, and turn it into splinters. The sharp pieces reassure me more than they ought. "Trust me, as this project heats up, you're going to want what space from me you can get between planning and execution."

"We'll see." Regan taps the brakes as we reach my block. The rain's letting up, now that it's turned everything to cold mud, and the clouds overhead are dissipating so quickly I can believe they were called in by some Song. "You wanted to be left off here?"

"Right, just at the--" I'm hard on doors, but I don't leave them hanging off the hinges like that. Nor am I in the habit of leaving broken pieces of furniture strewn across the front lawn. What would the neighbors say? "On second thought, hand me your phone."

"Well, isn't that interesting." Regan pulls out her phone, and parks the car at the curb while I dial.

"911 Emergency Dispatch, please state the nature of your emergency."

"I believe there's an intruder in my house," I say, and because there's no one here but Regan to see, I let myself grin.

The police find no one inside. No trace of Consty or any lurking Malakite, no bloodstains, though one of the officers makes alarmed noises at the sight of my destroyed living room. I make distressed sounds myself at appropriate intervals, express gratitude that I wasn't home when it happened, mention a lurker I'd seen before leaving, and give them a precise description of that Malakite of the Wind's vessel. After a point there are forms to fill out, official statements to make, and the police are off to deal with more urgent matters.

"So," says Regan, as the last car peels away, "you're staying with me tonight, right?"


	14. An Interlude, In Which The Enemy Is Overconfident

"That simple. And there you go." The Malakite sprawled in the chair across from Dalphon's desk, grinning. "I mean, couldn't have done it without the Kyrio, I wouldn't want to forget that--"

"Kyriotate," said Enon, from Ronda's body. "One extra syllable isn't hard to remember, is it?"

"...the Kyrio _tate_ , yes. But." Kelly shrugged. "Point is, the slimy bastard's back in Hell a Force or two shorter for the meeting, and that ought to clear up the Shedite problem you've been dealing with. Don't think it'll be creeping back here after that smackdown."

"Thank you for your help, Virtue." Dalphon spread his hands. "While I don't have much to offer you, if there's any way I could repay you--"

"Eh, don't worry about it. My type's always had flexible notions about concepts of payment and equitable exchange." The Malakite's teeth were very white, and managed to convey sharp points for all that they were ordinary for a human vessel. "Even if that's not the demon who put Nip into Trauma... I take great satisfaction in my work, you understand?"

"Oh, I _do_ understand, and I wish I could have been there to help." The Cherub closed his eyes, and the Tether whispered around him, steady and reliable as ever. One more threat dealt with, leaving his responsibility none the worse for wear. "Any trouble with the local authorities I should be aware of? They come looking in this neighborhood for suspects when things become disruptive, and I'd prefer the warning."

"Maybe. By the time I grabbed Enon and found the Fleshless, it'd done a number on that house. Bored or destructive, who can tell the difference? I don't think anyone saw me around there, but they might've seen the poor kid Enon had to walk out. Don't think she was from this area."

"Not according to her driver's license, she wasn't." The Kyriotate searched through Ronda's pockets. "Hey, gum!"

"In any case," said Kelly, standing up, "I'm off to do more demon-hunting as long as I'm in the area. While I could use a little help in that--it's not easy to sweep a city all on my own--you have enough to do already, and I'm not about to ask _Flowers_ for help in--" She broke off at a knock on the door. "Business? I'd better let you get back to work."

The door opened before Dalphon could answer, and Ling stepped inside. She closed the door behind her, beamed at everyone in the room. "Did you like the rain?" Her short hair hung in damp spikes about her face.

Dalphon suppressed a grimace. "It was very...wet. Why are you here?"

"I wanted to see if you liked the rain." Ling wrapped her arms around herself, smile fading. "Reducing the fire hazard. Refilling the lake. We asked the Wind for help, and they sent us someone with the Song to bring in the rain. Wasn't that a good thing?"

"It was great," said Kelly, and flung an arm around the Seraph's shoulders. "Not a full storm, that would've been more fun, but it certainly shook things up. Change from the routine. How about I give you a ride home?"

"Okay," said Ling, and let herself be drawn away.

Dalphon mouthed a "thank you" to the Malakite. Kelly winked at him, and took the Seraph out the door.

Ling settled herself into the passenger seat of the truck Kelly led her to, and opened the glove box. "Who did this car belong to before?"

"Don't know," Kelly said, swinging out onto the wet road. "Someone who's too far into the routine and ought to learn what the bus routes in the city are, by my thinking."

"The insurance says his name was Walter. I wonder what he's doing right now."

"Besides looking for his truck?"

"Yes. Besides that." Ling played with her seatbelt, plucking at the shoulder strap. "Did you kill that Shedite?"

"Alas, no. Whacked off a few Forces before it managed to skip back to Hell where it came from." Kelly arched an eyebrow at the Seraph during a pause at a stop sign. "You don't approve, do you?"

"You couldn't talk to it first?"

"And say what? 'Hey, that corruption business that's in your nature, I'd rather you not do it anymore. Mind stopping?' You can't ask demons nicely to not be evil anymore and expect to get anywhere."

"They don't ever listen?"

"Nope." Kelly's mouth quirked. "Well. Almost never. It's not worth letting them get away on the off chance you've run across the one that'll consider a reasonable request. What if they did listen, and then promised to change? Can't trust them. Demons _lie_ , as you well know."

Ling nodded quietly, and stared at the sprays of water from where tires hit puddles. "What about when they don't lie? The ones who need to be told, and when they hear properly they'll listen and know, and..." She folded her hands in her lap. "I lost my words. I meant to say something right, but all the words got away from me. I don't know where they're hiding now."

"You're trying to talk about redemption?" The Malakite shrugged, and both of them could nearly see those black-feathered wings. "My Choir deals in absolutes as much as yours does, if from a different angle. Evil or not evil, that's the question. The concept of swapping from one to the other's always been a thing we don't grasp well. But most demons who get sent to Earth aren't here because they're cuddly little souls waiting for someone to understand them. They're here because they've proven themselves to be fiendish enough to serve Princes on the corporeal plane."

"They're being who they are," Ling said. "Most of them can't imagine being anyone else." She unbuckled her seat belt as the truck slowed outside the garden walls. "I'm glad you liked the rain. Even if you did mostly say it because Dalphon wouldn't. Do you want to come in for hot chocolate?"

"Thanks, but that's not my style. And I have demons to look for yet."

Ling put her hand around the Malakite's. "Will you try talking first?"

"I'm a Virtue, it's not like I'm in the habit of chatting with--" Kelly sighed at the Seraph's expression. "Yes, I will _try_ talking before killing them, but it's going to be really _snappy_ talking, so don't expect much, okay?"

"Thank you," Ling said, and blew Kelly a kiss, all smiles again. "Please stay safe." She slid out of the car to run to the gates of the garden.

Kelly didn't pull away until the little Seraph was safely inside those walls. Flicked on the radio to a station where the music had a beat, and drove off faster than she'd approached. A weird kid, that one, but most redeemed were.


	15. In Which I Am Responsible

Regan brings me a glass of whiskey while I'm hunched over the bathroom sink, trying to rinse my mouth out. "You shouldn't provoke him," she says.

I'm too busy spitting blood to do more than glare at her.

"It's simple," Regan says. She sets the glass down on the sink, and leans in the doorway with her arms folded. "He gave us our orders. You don't get to argue."

I slam down a measure of whiskey, because by this point it's better than the blood. "The orders are _stupid_ ," I manage, all my words slurred from a mouth that hasn't stopped bleeding. "I wasn't arguing, I was pointing out flaws in the plan that should be obvious to anyone who thinks about them for thirty seconds."

"Risk to your vessel does not constitute a flaw in the plan."

"It very well does." I finish off the glass of whiskey, and turn to face her. "Do you find it amusing when I take dissonance? Because that's what I'm going to end up with again if I go through with this. My Prince doesn't think highly of any Servitor who can't carry off a plan without getting himself burned in the process, and that's _exactly_ what you're telling me to do."

"You're such a pessimist." She pulls me in for a kiss, tongue flicking about inside my bloody mouth. "You're clever," Regan says, when she lets me escape towards the living room. "You'll work out a way to do it without getting caught. Shouldn't you be happy about a chance to set things on fire?"

"More so if I still had a reliable human around to do the fire-setting for me. The disturbance from this will be echoing for miles."

"So what? We don't have any Tethers in the area. If it throws more instability at the Stone and Flowers Tethers, all the better." 

She doesn't object when I drop down on the couch and put my feet up on the coffee table. Small comfort. "We have a slight advantage in that the enemy doesn't know we're here. Not who we are, where we are, what we're aiming to do. We've been lucky enough to have them take out that idiot Shedite, so they're even inclined to believe our previous work was its fault. The orders you want me to work with mean that we're going to lose that advantage. And if I lose this vessel in the process? How long do you think it'll take them to trace it to you? Our Roles haven't been avoiding contact." I take the refill on whiskey she offers, because, contrary to the expectations of some, I don't like the taste of blood. Especially my own. "I can only assume that the Captain either doesn't care about the security of your Role, is less intelligent than I've given him credit for, or is wildly underestimating the abilities of the Host in this area."

"Maybe he thinks you can pull this off without getting caught."

That should not give me a wash of pride in my own abilities. I think option one is more likely, anyway. "Doesn't change the disturbance issue."

"So. There's disturbance. They know celestials were involved. So what? If we can keep you out of sight, all they know is that celestials were involved, and they can't tell if it was a local or someone passing through. And if they make a connection between a few buildings burning down and the new munitions plant, they have more information than we think."

I finish off my glass of whiskey. Turn over the details of this whole stupid scheme in my head. "How willing are you to risk your second vessel?"

"Reasonably. I'm not fond of Trauma, but I wouldn't be serving the General if I were afraid of corporeal death."

"Okay. I can work with this." Ethereal Form does wonders for sneaking around under the nose of the enemy, but if they know someone is there, it helps to have an obvious target. Not that I intend to explain the plan to Regan in this terms. "Should've kept Katherine around," I add, because who am I to pass up a chance to tell Regan she made a mistake? "No disturbance, and no one would doubt for an instant that she'd set fires for the heck of it, if she got caught."

"And if she said too much once caught, I'd end up having to kill her to shut her up, and you'd be annoyed. Drop it."

Anything you say, dear. "I'm going to need supplies. And research, though you'll have to handle some of it for me. If I try look things up online for days in a row, you won't have a computer left. Recon will be difficult with a Seneschal in the area." I dig through the open box of my items next to Regan's desk, and find notebook and pen to work with. "We could whittle down the Tether's mundane defenses, Soldiers and and ordinary mortals, before the fires start. But then we run the risk of the Seneschal calling in reinforcements, so let's list that as plan B. If we're having trouble keeping things quiet, we send the whole Tether into an unproductive hissy fit. Wish we could ID the Seneschal without risking that, it _would_ save us a lot of trouble if I could plan accordingly. Oh, and I'm working on the assumption that you can get me decent explosives at the drop of a hat, so if that's not true, tell me now."

"You're cute when you get focused, Leo."

"Do you know how the company's going to react to news of the fire? We may need to prepare spin ahead of time. We'll want a scapegoat for the mess, and whether we choose social unrest, a specific individual, or faulty wiring makes a difference in how I set this up." I find a map of the area to reference, and begin sketching out buildings vs. streets on a sheet of paper, referencing my memory from the few times I've driven through that neighborhood. "That empty lot on the same block as the Tether. Is that one of the properties you bought?"

"We have this company bought and paid for. They wouldn't argue with our decision of where to put the plant if aliens invaded. Give me a minute and I'll check on the lot. One site is still tangled up in discussions about hazardous materials disposal."

I'm not about to say so, but working out the details of this project is the most fun I've had in months. Likely to end with me vessel-dead and dissonant, but I'm accustomed to dealing with idiotic commands from on high. I cope.

Regan begins dumping information on me after a few hours, printouts from her computer and notes from her phone calls, while I work. More information to assimilate. A brief surprise in one of the zoned maps when I realize how many of the kids in that class I'm teaching live there. With two elementary schools in this city, I should have known. Doesn't matter. Humans are humans in all their forms, and if I prefer children to adults, it's because I find them easier to deal with. I'm no Impudite to worry about human death. They all die eventually.

Planning keeps me happy. Sad but true, that I can be so easily satisfied. It's the only chance I get to show off. Captain Savas has never seemed an idiot; maybe he knows this full well and has given me an impossible task, but why should he care about my level of job satisfaction? I'm not even a proper Servitor of the War, only a loaned-out Calabite that Regan's chosen. Something to think about later. For now, the job at hand.

Two in the morning, and I'm sitting in a drift of paper scraps from notes I've resonated. Better than a paper shredder. "I'm going to need to some recon. I can't plan on blueprints and drive-bys alone. Can you find an excuse to tour property you've bought?"

"I can arrange that." Regan sits on half of the couch that isn't covered in paper fragments. "Still think this is a bad idea?"

"Oh, I think it's a _terrible_ idea, but if I have to be involved, it's going to be the best application of a terrible idea you've ever seen." Never let it be said that I don't have a solid work ethic, one of the few virtues Demon Princes will tolerate in their Servitors. The pencil I'm using snaps. "I need another pencil."

Regan passes me a silver-plated pen, the kind that comes packaged in its own box with exuberant descriptive text, as opposed to my usual twenty-to-a-bag pencils. "If you can pull it off--"

"I'll get nothing. They'll claim it was a reasonable task that any fool could do, and if they're impressed, they'll congratulate you for delegating tasks well."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. Because that's how it works." I flip to a fresh page, and consider the scope of the task. "I don't think we can blame this on faulty wiring. We need to find someone to look guilty. They're not going to be content until they find someone, and better if it's someone of our choosing." I stop, and reconsider the tenor of the city. "Or we could use straight-up heavy explosives, let the city go into a tizzy over terrorists, and see how quickly everyone wants to prove themselves patriotic supporting that munitions plant. That risks drawing national attention, though. And an influx of outside observers, a number of which will be from the Host. Bad idea. Forget I mentioned it."

"We can deal with outside observers--"

"But it defeats the purpose of removing local Tethers. Valid strategy if we had other goals. Not in this case." And her Prince isn't the sort to reward taking the initiative towards secondary goals. "Yejide arrives in five days. I'd prefer to get this done after she arrives, for more backup."

"How much backup do you think a brain-dead Lilim's likely to provide? It's not relevant."

I nod agreeably, and make sure to schedule the messier events of this plan for after that Lilim arrives.

The world spins around, the sun comes up, and I run to the bus with nothing but a quick shower and change of clothing. I don't need to eat, but breakfast is one way to keep my Role solid and my mind from slipping into job-related obsession. I'm sufficiently on my toes to dodge an encounter with the principal on the way to my classroom. Wish I could burn down _his_ house, but that's not part of this job.

I spend the morning keeping the kids from rampaging through the classroom. Where do the great writers come from out of this undistinguished mass of humanity? I can't see a Jane Austen or Christopher Marlowe in any of these children, only two dozen humans who will grow up, work, and die in ordinary ways. It's hard to picture anyone here as mattering in another century.

At lunch, I hit the vending machines in the teachers' lounge, preservatives and artificial flavorings to maintain the appearance of being one of them. I sit in the corner with a book I've read a dozen times before and contemplate the nuances of setting half a dozen fires in quick succession. Regan's arranging an inspection of the buildings, and knowing what kind of fire control systems have been installed will inform my plans.

I could do this. I really could. Settle down in this substitute teacher Role, plot the occasional resolution for an idiot plan, tune out the chatter around me, and...it's a life. I could handle that, as a long-term job. Play the wolf in sheep's clothing and never much interact with other celestials.

Except that's not the fast track to success, which is where Regan's running. And where she goes, I'm dragged along behind her.

Some days I could forget about entropy and wish for more inertia.

The principal comes to see me during my free period. I smile pleasantly, resist the urge to channel my resonance into a subtler use and stop his heart. No, police officer, I don't know what happened. He dropped dead right in front of me, exactly like that. Must be all the stress. Did he have a history of heart disease in his family?

By the time classes let out, I'm more than ready to get back home. There's no comfort in playing a Role I'll be abandoning in a few months. I don't bother to buy hardcover editions of my books anymore, only paperbacks it doesn't hurt to leave behind. I'm sinking into another depressive slump from being given a project to work on and knowing how little even a spectacular success will matter. I could use more positive reinforcement.

"Leo?"

I turn around, and--not who I expected to see outside the school. The Seraph from the Flowers Tether, in shorts and sandals and a big fluffy jacket, as wide-eyed and inappropriately dressed as the last time I saw her.

"Excuse me?" I go for polite confusion, and move out of the way of the stream of children pouring into school buses.

"That's your name, right? I'm Ling. We met once. Back in the gardens. You brought Katherine there, to see the plants."

The first rule of talking to a Seraph: don't lie. They'll know. "I remember. How can I help you?"

"I went to the school where Katherine's supposed to go, to ask after her, but they said she didn't go there anymore. And here they won't tell me, but I don't see her here either. She hasn't been by to play in more than two weeks. Do you know what happened?"

I connect the dots, and dislike the picture. "She's been visiting you?" Katherine can't have said anything incriminating or this isn't the conversation we'd be having.

Ling nods earnestly, hands in her pockets. The motion sends the absurd mop of hair bouncing around her face. "Didn't she tell you?"

"No. She didn't." Very well, time for my best disappointed-in-the-behavior-of-my-ward face. "She shouldn't have gone so far from home without letting me know."

"You didn't notice?"

...slightly sticky question, that. This is not the person I want to admit to that I left Katherine alone at home often enough that she could apparently run off to consort with the Host without my even _noticing_. The second rule of talking to a Seraph: if you really can't answer a question truthfully, don't answer it directly at all. "Katherine's been up to a lot of trouble lately. She isn't going to school in this city anymore."

"You sent her away?" Ling's voice rises, enough that some of the passing kids turn to look our way. "But why?"

I rub my forehead for a moment, and consider my answering options. "Several reasons." Let's hope she doesn't get more than the most basic truth out of that. "I'm not the best guardian she could have. The school she's attending now has more experience than I do in dealing with children."

"Oh. But... Oh, I don't _know_." The Seraph covers her mouth with both hands, fists pressed up against her lips. "I liked talking with her," she says finally, in a much quieter voice. "Would you give me her address, so that I can write?"

I weigh the advisability of letting a Seraph stay in contact with Katherine against how annoyed I am to have lost my pet to Regan's decisions. "Sure. She'd be happy to hear from more than just me." I scribble out the school's address on the back of an official memo, and pass it over to Ling. "I wish she'd told me she'd been spending time with you."

"So do I." She reads over the paper, folds it up to tuck away in a pocket. "I'm sorry," she adds, looking up at me. Her vessel's barely shorter than mine, but something of her posture gives her the look of someone very small.

"For what?"

"That you had to send her away. Do you really think it's best for her?"

Compared to Regan deciding to take matters into her own hands? "Yes," I say, in all honesty. "It's better for her than staying here with me."

Ling nods to that, apparently answer enough for any of her worries or suspicions. "Come visit some time," she says. "I've learned how to make tea." She turns abruptly to make her way through the thinning crowd, back towards her Tether.

She's become more coherent since the last time I spoke with her. More dangerous, then. I'll take that into account. Regan will want to kill her, and despite the attention it would draw, I'm not sure my Balseraph would be wrong. A little truth spread to the wrong places can throw my best-laid plans into chaos. I will not have my tenuous strategies destroyed by _Flowers_.


	16. In Which I Explain My Plans So That Others Might Take Credit For Them

In Which I Explain My Plans So That Others Might Take Credit For Them

Yejide's flight is sparsely populated, with only a trickle of people heading downstairs from the gates. It's easy to pick out the business executive, briefcase in one hand and expensive jacket slung over the other arm. Which means the mousy woman trailing behind him must be my dear cousin Eva, personal assistant of the very important man whose name I don't know or particularly care about.

She heads straight for me, eyes lighting up. She's good at acting. Or she's actually happy to be around other demons after playing secretary to an idiot human for so long. "Leo! It's so good to see you again."

"Eva, it's been too long." I hug right back, and notice that she's using the embrace to check if I'm carrying any weapons. Not near the airport, I'm not. "How was the flight?"

"Not bad when I'm flying business class. They give you enough space to stretch your legs." The Lilim lets me break free, and turns back towards the human she's been assigned to. "William, this is my cousin Leonard Evans. He lives in the area, and said he'd show me around. Leo, my boss, Mr. Mahoney."

"Pleased to meet you, sir." He has the grip of a man who believes a handshake indicates a man's character. Regan's wandered back in our direction, so I go for the escape clause of introducing the two of them, and then leave them discussing real estate while Yejide (no, think of her as Eva) and I stare at the luggage carousel.

"I see they patched you up."

"Freshly added, yes." She taps her head, and I refrain from asking how many Ethereal Forces she has now. The last time we spoke she had trouble composing sentences, and clauses were right out. "Let me guess. Regan's been bitching about babysitting me while I stare blankly into space. Did she think they'd send me back out in that state?"

"As much as a Balseraph believes anything she says." That earns me a sharp smile. "How long are you in town?"

"Officially? A week, to look over the site and discuss the city's offer. Once a decision's in the making, though..." Eva steps forward to haul a suitcase off the moving belt. "I hope to have everything wrapped in a month. We'll see how it goes."

Regan spends the drive back to her condo bitching about Lilim in general, and idiot ones specifically. The weight of her annoyance suggests that there's something personal going on. I choose not to pursue the matter, because Balseraphs, more than any Band, go into complete denial on any subject they'd rather not discuss.

Eva shows up at the condo late in the evening Less of the mouse and more of the cat to her walk, once the door closes behind her. "So what's the plan? I hear there's supposed to be a loud noise in the next few days."

"We're working around the noise issue." I take her jacket when she holds it out to me, drop it on the coat rack with the others. "If we play this right, we can pull the whole thing off without disturbance."

"Clever." The Lilim takes a seat at one end of the couch, and Regan stands across the room with arms folded. More and more interesting. "How do you intend to do that? Have a human pet to send out for your fire-starting?"

"Not...quite." I sit next to Eva-nee-Yejide. I don't put my shoes up on the table out of respect for Regan's furniture and a desire not to be stabbed by my grumpy girlfriend. "We've been playing fast and loose with Regan's backup vessel, and building on a foundation that a Shedite of Factions left behind. Three groups of children bickering with each other, and each set of kids convinced the others started it. The right suggestion at the right time, and we end up with three different prank fires set in different buildings, all conveniently located near flammable material."

"If the children prove to be difficult to manipulate?" Yejide drums pink-painted fingernails on one knee.

"Back to plan A. Several cans of gasoline, a few cheap remote-controller sparkers, and try to get it set up before anyone finds out." I could do more effective work with a series of small fires, but as always, I'm not the one making the decisions here. Who would've guessed I'd be the one arguing _against_ burning down a neighborhood? "I'd prefer not to. That much disturbance will bring in outside observers."

"No ID yet on the Seneschal?"

"No ID yet on _any_ celestial working at that Tether, Seneschal or otherwise. Earlier suspicions didn't pan out." I do not look at Regan of the hasty death-dealing. "We have more leads on the Flowers Tether--it seems likely that the caretaker is the Seneschal, and we've pegged one other resident as some sort of damaged Seraph--but that's not high priority."

"Seraphim of Flowers can be...inconvenient." The Lilim frowns. "Regan, do we have plans for dealing with that?"

"Once we're done with the immediate project." Regan's affecting boredom, which I don't believe for an instant. "All you need to take care of one of those is a rifle and distance."

"Am I the only one here who thinks that killing every potential angel in this city _isn't_ a good way to handle the situation?" Two stares, blank and annoyed respectively, suggest yes. "Forget I asked." There's something wrong with any situation where the Calabite is suggesting more subtlety.

"How long do we have before the no return line for choosing a plan?" Yejide's asking me, not Regan, and I wonder if I should throw responsibility back on the leader of this little group before she decides I'm challenging her authority.

"With a few hours' prepwork, we can switch to plan B. It's simply less optimal than plan A. Thus the lettering system." 

Yejide looks thoughtful. Regan looks murderous. As such, I defer the rest of the explanation to our friendly neighborhood Balseraph, and try to look supportive of my girlfriend's statements. It's a boring plan, anyway.

I'm going to take dissonance for plan B. Please let them not choose that one.

Regan hurries the Lilim out as soon as we're all caught up on information exchange. It's not just my imagination; my girlfriend has issues with Yejide beyond any experience I have with the Lilim. Interesting. None of my business, but interesting.

At the door, Yejide pauses, such a natural-looking hesitation it has to be calculated. "I need to make a few calls on the way back, and the roads are slush," she says. "Leo, would you drive me back to the hotel in my rental? I can give you cab fare." 

"Sure," I say, and hurry the Lilim into the hallway before Regan can get angrier. 

I take my time driving along wet streets, while Yejide sends a series of calls. The hotel parking garage is nearly empty; one more sign of how bad business is in this city. Outside the car, I can see my breath in the air. I wait for her to finish her last call and get out, then hand over the keys. "Catch you tomorrow." 

"Want to come up for coffee? It's cold outside, and if you mean to walk back..." She lets her sentence trail off invitingly. Offers me a sweet, hopeful glance. I know better. 

There are so many ways to deal with what she's trying. Some of these strategies would end with me being shot, either by her or by an annoyed Balseraph. I rub my face, consider my options. "Let me see if I can summarize," I say, because she's waiting for an answer. "You and Regan had something going while she was in Hell, after she went through Trauma. Ended badly, probably when she got sent to Earth. She did her snakey denial so she's not acknowledging you were a thing, then she hooks up with some scruffy Calabite she knew back in college like you don't even _matter_ , you get your mind shredded before you can respond, and now that you two are in the same space you're looking to drag her through the coals by acting like you're interested in me. Which isn't a bad plan, but I don't have the time or patience to cooperate, so let's move on while you come up with another way to get back at your ex. That work for you?" 

Her face freezes. Only for an instant before she's back to a puzzled smile. "What makes you think you're right?" 

"I know how Regan works. She wouldn't be this hostile to you unless you used to get along. She treats real enemies differently." I put one hand in my pocket, and establish that I have two dollars left. Not getting a cab ride on that. But walking will clear my head, and I need that. I don't have the thought processes free to spare on two ex-lovers playing territory games. "I don't know you well, but from what I've seen? Sounds like your style, to deal with the issue." 

Yejide laughs sharply. "You liked me better when I was stupid. Not enough in my head to do more than follow orders." 

"Fuck, no. If I have to work with other people, I'd prefer someone who can think on her feet. But I don't like getting jerked around. You two want to have it out over old insults? Fine. Don't try to drag me into it. It's none of my business." 

She's lost her smiles, and this expression I believe. "What _do_ you want, Leo?" 

"Nothing you can give me." I'm not in the mood to be hooked by Lilim either. Once is enough there. "Good night, dear cousin. I'll see you later."  "Good night, Leo. Until later." She kisses me on the cheek, warm lips and cold gloves brushing across my skin, then walks towards the elevators with her phone out for more calls. 

The air outside is even colder than in the garage, enough so that it's working through standard vessel resistances to turn my fingers numb. Still better than letting myself get used. It's the way of the world that we're all being screwed over, but that doesn't mean I have to lie down and take it in every case.  Only most of the time.


	17. In Which I Make Hasty Decisions

Waking up hurts.

I'm not made for the sleep of Trauma any more than humans are made for death. I'm staring at my Heart and I don't know how long I've been here, or how I got here. Dying, right, that's how, but I don't remember what happened. Fire and...nothing.

There's something wrong. More than feeling soul-tattered, as if I've gone through a blender and reassembled. I don't feel like myself yet.

I stand up. I'm not in Sheol where I belong. This is a Heart room in Gehenna, every barred nook set with a flickering chunk of rock that means nothing to anyone but its demon. I can touch mine through the bars set around it, but it's locked up securely there. When did they move my Heart to Baal's territory? I'm not--

Oh _fuck_.

This would explain why I'm not dissonant from having my own plan thoroughly, if not unexpectedly, come back to burn me. The War doesn't care if demons get chopped up along the way, so long as the mission's accomplished. There is something fundamentally wrong with any Word where I get a pat on the head for losing my vessel.

I turn around, see the barracks guards watching me. Of course there'd be guards on the Heart room: no lake of fire to consume Heart-breakers here. The nearest of the two blinks slowly at me, a Djinn that looks like the end result of a Vapulan experiment involving scorpions and an angry boar. "Took you long enough," she says, and passes me a folder. "New orders. Need to get your ass back downstairs to keep your Role active."

I take the papers and affect a bored expression, as if this doesn't bother me. No matter that I'm supposed to have a symphony wrapped around me of fire and destruction, and what I'm hearing in my Heart is the beat of war drums. "How long has it been?"

The Djinn shrugs, but the Impudite behind her, looking as bored as I'm pretending to be, offers, "Two days. Pretty fast." There's another Impudite beyond him, curled up staring at her Heart. Still in Trauma, and better her than me. Two days I can work with. Only so much can change in that short a time span.

"Lucky me." I flip through the papers. Half of it's the orders Regan and I received when we were sent, without an update for the progress we've made. (I could close my eyes and listen to the distant crackle of flames, feel the oncoming heat, know that my Prince will burn it all in the end. Not now. All I can reach for is marching and drums.) "Says I'm supposed to head to a Tether and call Yejide for a pickup. Does this mean I have a replacement vessel?"

"Dunno. Didn't read it," says the Djinn. I get to the certificate declaring my permanent transfer to Baal's service, under the probationary supervision of Captain Savas. The next page details which attunements from Fire I keep. How thorough of them. It's a small comfort that I still have my Calabite of Fire attunement. Realizing I don't have Firewalker anymore, that's nearly physical pain. I've grown accustomed to ignore flames as any threat. I worked for that attunement, blood and sweat and tears--granted, mostly those of other people--and it's gone because of a transfer I've never wanted.

"You're supposed to hurry," says the Djinn, skulking nearer to me, her claws scraping along the concrete floor. "What, you don't understand your orders?"

"Making sure I understand them before I run off," I say, and flip through the last few pages. Updated mission objectives, assorted paperwork. It's pointless and hilarious. What does paperwork matter when I can be tossed from one Prince to another on their whims? Maybe I'd fit better into the service of the Prince of the War. He appreciates dedication and self-restraint, where my Prince--my Prince no longer, Belial who strung my Forces together and gave me personally to that first Habbalite--prefers wilder Calabim.

I'm exercising a great deal of self-restraint right now.

The last page has the specific orders. Go directly back down the corporeal, do not pass Go, do not collect any spare cash. Now that I'm looking for it, I can get the sense of that vessel waiting for me. Take up the old Role...which means I'm going to look the same as before. Some day, I'll get a vessel that doesn't look quite so...wimpy. Regan gets two well-made vessels that radiate authority, I get a vessel that looks like I teach fourth grade.

It's hard to ignore the noise in the back of my head, but if I leave it alone for long enough maybe it'll die down. No, that's not me screaming back there, I just left the television on... Shut up shut up shut _up_. I can deal with this.

I flip to the last page, and hold it out to the Djinn. "I'm supposed to use this Tether. How do I get there?"

"Not a tour guide," she mutters.

I swap to my charming, faintly befuddled smiled, the one that would do an Impudite proud. "But I'm supposed to _hurry_ , and I don't know the way. I'm not asking you to show me, just point me in the right direction." I drop my voice. "Wouldn't want to keep anyone waiting."

The Djinn rolls three eyes at me, claws clicking against the ground again. "Lend me a hand so that you don't get blamed if I fail" usually works well for small favors. I assume they choose barracks guards based on the ability to shred people, not on the ability to think matters through. She shuffles a little to the side to point. "Head out. Take the first left at the barracks that says forty-two."

"The first left, not the second? I thought the second was faster..." I'm mapping out what little I know of this area of the Principality in my head, and I catch the eye of the Impudite who's so bored right now, give her a puzzled look of wait, don't you think it's faster if I take the second left?

This is one of those days when I wish for the Balseraph resonance. Or the Habbalite resonance, or even the Impudite one, any of the ways to push people's minds in useful directions. "I think it's the first left," the Impudite says, and his gaze follows the direction I'm looking without even quite noticing he's doing it, until both of them are peering out the door. "And then you take a right at the brick wall--"

"I thought the brick wall went down in that battle back in August," I say, hands resting in my pockets. "Did they rebuild it?"

"Only put a hole in," says the Djinn, just as the Impudite says, "Yes, it did." The two of them eye each other. I maintain my baffled expression.

"So is it more that way," I ask in my best stupid-Calabite voice, pointing forward and to the left, "or is it more _that_ way?" I shuffle slightly out of their line of sight as they glare at each other.

"You really want to stick by the wall," says the Impudite, folding his arms as he engages in what's probably the deepest thinking he's done all day. "There's a right that would take you on a straight line towards the area, but they've been shelling there again--"

"Faster, though," says the Djinn, "and you can hear the shells coming--"

"--faster, fine, but who wants to get filled with shrapnel? If he sticks to the wall until it turns right, he can go through the city there--"

"--aren't they doing squad exercises there today?"

"I thought that was tomorrow. Was it today?"

"Later today, I mean, and continuing until tomorrow."

I'm two steps behind them. I turn to look at my Heart. It's not what it used to be. Still claims to understand me and call me home, but only because it believes I've changed, that this is my new home.

I don't have much to my name. I will not lose myself to someone else's whim.

The Heart shreds at the grasp of my resonance. New Discord wraps around me. If they turned, they'd notice, and they _will_ notice in another instant, but I'm reaching towards the spot where I died, wherever that was, and pulling myself back down to the corporeal plane.

This is a dreadful idea.

This has not stopped me fso far.

My vessel snaps on around me, exactly as I remembered it, no matter that this is a copy. I'm standing in a hallway covered in black soot, smelling of smoke, on rubble and a fallen door. I don't remember what happened here.

I'm running before I decide where. Regan's condo is definitely off the list, and the chances of Stone investigating the disturbance of my arrival near their Tether? (Is this their Tether? It must be, I don't recognize the place, and it's been burnt.) Let's call that a good chance. I give the guards back in that room thirty seconds, tops, before they send a team after me for retrieval.

The elevator in this building is a burnt husk, and the stairs creak at my first step. (Not the Tether, it didn't have an elevator.) I take the stairs. I might reach the ground floor before gravity steps in to discuss how fast I want to get there. The railing's gone, but with a few jumps over the gaps I make it down two floors before I hear the second wave of disturbance from people showing up where I did. Why did I think this was a good idea? No, scratch that, I never thought this was a _good_ idea. Why did I think I could get away with this?

I'm not sure I did think that. Doesn't mean I intend to lay down and die. Three floors down now. I hope they aren't taking the elevator shaft. They could have vessels tough enough to surive it. Or specialized climbing equipment, or painful long-range weapons--okay, it's not productive to think along these lines. Focusing on the part where I vanish somewhere into the night. Or day. What time of day is it anyway?

(Right now, it's What the Fuck Were You Thinking O'Clock. Thank you, smug little voices in the back of my head, you were the ones throwing a hissy fit about the transfer and telling me to do this, so how about shutting up on the I Told You So until I'm either safely away or safely in Limbo and able to obsess over my failures at my leisure? Thanks.)

The ground floor's a gaping mess, the dim street outside visible through holes in the wall. The lack of traffic and darkness suggest it's late at night. More to the point: a woman freezes at the sight of me, from where she was sneaking in through hole in the wall. Aware? Oh yes, and some angel or Soldier of Stone. "Three of them," I say, skidding to a stop in front of her. "They're armed, I think Fire, maybe the War, I don't know, maybe Death, but they're here to finish it off, I jumped back downstairs and they must have been waiting for someone, can you tell the Seneschal?"

She doesn't blink, but pulls me out that gap, hand on my arm. "Come with me," she says quietly, "and we can keep you safe--"

"Too dangerous. They've seen me. I can go inconspicuous for a while, but can you get back to the Tether to bring in reinforcements?" It's so easy to slip into this breathless rush of information, terrified but concerned for her.

"If you'll be safe--" she begins, and I use the one Song I know to fade into near-invisibility, another shadow in the dark night. She smiles at me, a flash of white teeth. "Keep out of sight. I'll get backup." Then she's pounding down the street towards the Tether, while I turn and run in the opposite direction. Confusing the matter can only help, and the longer the hit squad thinks I'm playing with angels, the better. Go sniff around every Heavenly spot of sunlight on this planet, boys, while I find somewhere dark and quiet to hide. It's no problem of mine if the Prince of the War wants to assault the outposts of Heaven. I have better things to do.

Like figure out what the fuck I'm doing next.


	18. In Which I Have Attachment Issues

The downside of having received a decent education is that I keep using it. I've spent the last eight hours analyzing what psychological factors drove me Renegade. This isn't useful; the situation won't come up again. If they catch me, I'm not going to be dragged back into service, I'm going be _dead_. No Prince forgives Renegades, but Baal's at the top of the list for taking it personally.

My problem--not the immediate one of why I'm driving to the place I'm going, which I'll think about later, as I only have the patience to deal with one of my flaws at a time right now, but the overarching one that I'm choosing to focus on--is that I'm playing a no-win game. To win at going Renegade, I need to stay clear of anyone who'd object--which is everyone on both sides of the War, plus neutral parties who object to demons on principle--for, well, forever. All anyone else needs to win this game is find me _once_. There's no such thing as a win on my side; you don't get to the end of forever.

Maybe if Heaven and Hell decided to stop bothering with Earth and go back home, but what are the chances of that?

The tank's nearly empty, which won't do. I take the closest exit and stop at a gas station, use the credit card I took from the man who used to drive this car. I hate driving an SUV, the mileage is horrid, but if people drive giant gas-guzzling monstrosities around, once in a while someone's going to beat them up and take the contents of their pockets. Especially where the someone is me. Energy conservation, people. Learn to love it.

After I've filled the tank, I head inside and pick up a local map. The gas station's staffed by a flat-faced woman with long hair. She picks at a strip of tape on the counter while I walk around, and keeps a casual eye on me. I look responsible and good-natured. I can't help it; it's just the vessel. She looks a bit like Holly, but that's a human I've spent a lot of time not thinking about, so I stuff the thought in the back of my mind with the rest of my denial and take the map to the front. I grab one of those magic pen activity books while I'm at it, as more intellectually stimulating than any of the books on sale.

"That all for you today?" She has a decent voice, with either friendliness or a good imitation of it.

"Pretty much," I say. She raises an eyebrow at the activity book, and I smile at her. "Picking up my niece for a weekend trip. It'll keep her from kicking the back of the seat the whole drive."

"She live around here, or at that school up a ways?" There's nothing more than idle curiosity to her voice.

"At the boarding school. I haven't been there before. I'm following directions I got online, so I hope I'm going in the right direction." My smile's disarming, hers is amused, and here we are, demon and human, acting like we give a damn about each other. I may be a sociopath, but I'm a functioning one. Society's rules aren't hard to stick to when people are looking.

"I've heard it's a very good school," she says in a polite-and-neutral tone that means she's heard the opposite, or unsettling rumors. If I were at my leisure, I'd investigate further. Leisure isn't in my inventory . I collect my change and return to the monster of a car.

Half a mile from the school, I make a U-turn, and leave the car by the side of the road with blinkers on. Striking off from the road takes me to the wall, an imposing stone barrier that goes out of its way to look more pretentious than a stone wall inherently does. Ten minutes later, I'm over the wall and past the stables, towards the classrooms and dormitories that perch on the hill. Time to go through with another bad plan. On the plus side, I no longer take dissonance from having my bad plans blow up in my face. That's almost comforting.

I know why I'm being stupid. So I have a few control issues; what demon doesn't? Katherine's one more possession they want to control, and I don't want to let them. I was the one who hauled her away from that Djinn, found a use for her, taught her how to mind her manners and break things when she wanted to. I don't mean to let them turn her into another obedient, dull-minded Soldier of the War. I called dibs, and I _will_ make the decisions about what happens to her.

The chances that they'd figure this out are higher than I'd like. Or if they think I've run off with angels, they might be planning to use her as bait. The longer I wait and plan, the less chance I'll have of grabbing her. So it's now or never.

If I get shot while trying this, it's no more than I deserve for being such a stubborn idiot against all sense and reason.

There's not much cover among deciduous trees bare from the winter. I hang back until a flood of schoolgirls pours out from the classroom buildings. I sing myself shadowy and move forward.

There's Katherine, dragged along by some teacher, whining loudly about the unfairness of not going riding with everyone else. Whatever the teacher says to her, it's not enough to shut the kid up. That's my girl. I grin at the badly-aimed kick to the teacher's shins.

I catch up with them, my speed slowed by the attempt to be quiet--even with the racket of a hundred girls playing games, I should be careful--as they reach the dormitories. "It's not fair," Katherine says, yanking at the wrist caught by the teacher's grip. "I was going to be the goalie! They said I could! I didn't do anything wrong, and it's not fair that I have to sit inside and I didn't do anything and it's not faaaair!"

The teacher doesn't respond. Interesting. I follow them through the door, with a quick slide through as it falls shut behind them. The hallway inside holds a dozen doors on each side, all the bedrooms for little girls. Katherine turns on the tears as she's shoved into a room. "I don't wanna stay inside! It's not fair!"

"It's for your own good," says the teacher. She lets go of Katherine's wrist, then shuts the door and locks it. "Brat," she adds quietly.

This Song won't last much longer. I hit her with a wash of my resonance, and watch the teacher's eyes go wide, and one hand reach inside her jacket. Oh, no, let's not have that unpleasantness and noise. I hit her with the resonance again--I'd be grateful to my Prince for the attunement that keeps it from making disturbance, but then I'd have to think about my Prince--and grab her wrist. The Song fades, letting her stare at me, and her mouth opens--

The third wash of resonance takes her down, only an inarticulate gargle as she sinks to the floor. She's bleeding, and looks like she fell out a window, but she'll live. I take the gun out of her holster, and tuck it into my waistband beneath the jacket. Then it's time to unlock the door and say hello.

Katherine looks up, wet face twisted into deliberate sobbing. She opens her mouth, shuts it again as I put a finger to my lips. Then jumps back as I drag the teacher in. "What happened?" she whispers, running forward to wrap her arms around me. "What did you do to her?"

"Just knocked her out," I say quietly, "like in the movies." Which never cover the long-term brain damage that comes from head injuries severe enough to cause unconsciousness. "It's an emergency, Katherine, and we need to go _now_. Grab anything you have to take with you, and we're running." 

She's been through last-minute runs from sticky situations with me before. She nods, and drops down to her knees to pull a backpack out from under the bed. It's already packed. "I knew you'd come back for me," she whispers, eyes bright. "I'm ready."

"So I see." I swing her up into a proper hug. "Good kid. We're going out the back. If anyone starts shouting, run for the wall, and get to the other side. I'll come find you later if we get separated. Understood?" I'm not sure how long I have before someone notices the kid's minder is missing.

She nods up at me, all the tears gone. "I'll keep going."

No one's appeared in the hall. I lock the door behind us, and we make good time to the wall beyond.

The back of my head itches, as if a bullet's about to make an entrance there. But that's just paranoia. Paranoia, and the knowledge that there are at least two, and possibly three, Princes of Hell who are going to dislike my decision to run away.

Katherine gets to the top of the wall before I do, all her nervous energy going into speed. "Where are we going?" she asks, which is an excellent question, and one of the many things I'm not thinking about. She climbs down so easily I suspect she's tried this escape before.

"We're going to keep moving," I say, and won't elaborate until I have her strapped into the car with the backpack at her feet and the activity book in her lap.

I pass the gas station again on the way back to the freeway, and the woman who doesn't really look like Holly stands outside, fiddling with one of the pumps. Katherine rolls down her window and leans her head out, hair tangling in the wind. "I like driving," she says. "When do I get to learn to drive?"

"When you're older. Ask for lesson when you're tall enough to reach the pedals and see out the windshield at the same time." I'm sticking to exactly the speed limit; I don't need trouble in a stolen car with a kidnapped minor. I should switch cars at the next major city.

"Are we going to meet up with Regan when we get to wherever?" She puts out one hand to feel the wind slipping between her fingers. "Or is it just you and me this time?"

"Just the two of us, kid." I'm not thinking about Regan's reaction. Or what trouble she might get in for pushing for that transfer. "We'll have to be careful. People are looking us."

Katherine looks at me, face more serious. "Is it the people who you saved me from before?" I've never given her a reason to doubt my story about how she came to be with me, family dead and her aunt no longer caring. I couldn't explain the Fall of an angel and territorial squabbles between demons to a seven-year-old if I wanted to.

"Yeah," I say. "That's who we're staying a step ahead of. They knew you were in that school, so I had to get you out." I consider how best to spin the story. "I'm not sure, but I think... Regan might be working with them."

"I _knew_ it," Katherine declares. "She's too mean to be good! Was she a double agent? Spying for them?"

"You're smarter than I am, if you figured that out," I say. "Maybe she is. If you see her, get away fast. Just in case."

"I knew it," Katherine says. "I knew it all along." With a face full of childish sympathy, she leans over to pat my arm. "I'm sorry she's not good," she tells me earnestly. "I know you liked her."

"It's okay," I say. "Don't worry about it."

I don't need to eat, sleep, or stop for bathroom breaks. Katherine needs all three. If she gets shot, it's not a few months in Limbo she's looking at, but real death. This is not a long-term solution. "Katherine," I say, "get the map book out from under the seat, and open it up to the map that shows the whole country. I need to figure out where to go next."

My knowledge of Heavenly Tethers is spotty. I've seldom had reason to care about distant ones. But if there's any place I can drop off an eight-year-old with a penchant for guns and destruction without Regan being able to grab her right back, that would be where.

Whether I can do this without getting shot by either side, that's another matter. I'll worry about that later. Maybe while reflecting on my personal failings in the quiet gray of Limbo.


	19. In Which I Am Not A Complete Bastard, And What's Up With That, Anyway?

This is not a good idea. This is not a good idea at all. That's what's running through my head, back to front, and by the rules of Fire I'd be staring at upcoming dissonance the way deer stare into headlights. Not having that dissonance condition anymore (and shouldn't I be considering this a plus, instead of feeling like someone's ripped a safety rail off a steep curvey?), all I'm looking at is the high chance that this will end badly for me.

Nothing new.

Katherine fell asleep half an hour ago, and is now snoring. Probably for the best. Angels must have experience in creating minimally traumatic explanations for why some human's close friends and relatives abruptly disappeared. Mercurians are supposed to be good with humans. (When they're not smiting Balseraphs who mistake "Can't hurt humans" for "Can't hurt me.")

I'm not sure why I care if she's further traumatized. I'm projecting my desires onto someone else; if I can't ever catch a break, maybe she can on my behalf. The kid's been through enough in life that she deserves one.

The parking lot is nearly empty. This late at night, it ought to be deserted, but this is a Tether, and celestials aren't known for their regular sleeping patterns. I park at the far side from the office building to give me space to repress terror on my way over.

I leave the gun in the car. I'm asking for enough trouble as it is without showing up here armed. My resonance means I'm always armed, but I can't carve that out and leave it behind.

The college I graduated from lies about five miles away. The Seneschal I ran errands for made sure to drill into my head every known servant or property of Heaven in a twenty-mile radius, because they wouldn't send her a replacement too quickly if I got skewered. Of the two known angelic Tethers around here, the other one's for Judgment. I don't see myself showing up there and getting away. Trade, though... It's not Flowers, but it's the best I can come up with on short notice and limited resources. Give me three weeks to plan, give me three _days_ to plan and I could have come up with better, but I'm running as fast as stolen SUVs can take me and making it up as I go along. This will have to do.

I'm stalling. Beside me, Katherine shifts in her sleep, mouth hanging open, one hand wrapped around the half candy bar from our rest stop. I step out of the car into the cold night.

I could really go for a cigarette.

I make my way to a door, locked and unlit, and wait. It's stupid to assume the enemy is an idiot, and anyone who isn't an idiot would have surveillance around a Tether that's been so built into a modern company building.

It's easy to stand here. If anyone's chasing me, I dare them to run to this place and try to make a fuss. I could stand here until morning if I need to, spending my time in uncertain safety with no obligations.

Turns out I get four minutes before I hear the distinct sound of a gun being cocked behind me.

Sneaky, sneaky angels. I have to admire that in anyone working for a Word known for the snappy business suits and loophole-free contracts. "I don't suppose you have a minute to talk before you shoot me?"

"Talk about what? The Tether you tried to burn down?" I'm not sure if I should be worried by how cheerful that voice is.

"Okay, first point, I wasn't trying to burn it down, I was trying to destabilize it by burning down the buildings _around_ it," I say, and I turn slowly to avoid being promptly shot. I'd guess Malakite, and he's indeed a well-dressed man in a business suit, holding a gun to my head. "Second point, I thought you didn't get along with Stone."

"They have issues with us, not the other way around," the angel explains to me. The pistol doesn't waver. There's a silencer on the end; how considerate of any humans in the area. "I'm afraid I don't find the distinction you make to be relevant." He looks like the sort of man who worked his way from cubicle to office, and remembers to change the oil in his car every three months. "I am curious as to why you would consider this a dishonorable act."

"Because it was a stupid plan," I say. "I could think of a half dozen better ways to take down the Tether off the top of my head, if anyone had bothered to ask."

I duck and roll as he pulls off the first shot. Must remember that telling the truth is only appreciated by Seraphim, not Malakim. Not that Malakim appreciate anything but killing demons, so far as I'm aware. I drop the Essence I can barely afford to use into making sure, and shred the angel's pistol. Now _that's_ more fair.

"I'd like to know what you're doing here, Destroyer," he says, drawing a knife from beneath his coat, and I'm backing up with an eye towards not tripping over anything, "but not enough to leave you alive."

"Right, Malakite Oaths, check. Could we have a quick chat before the slaying evil clause activates? I'm pretty sure there's no hard time limit on that, Gabrielites excepted." I don't think turning on the charm is going to help me. The first lunge with the knife confirms this, and while I'm half decent at getting out of the way, it's not going to last. "Come on, you know I'm not a Balseraph. I can't mess with your head. What would it hurt to listen before the stabbing?"

"I'm not that much of a fool." He's methodical, and vicious. I turn his knife into fragments in his hands, and hope it wasn't one he was very fond of.

Turns out he can punch harder than I can. Just my luck.

"If you'd listen for a minute--" I don't get out of the way fast enough, stagger backwards at that blow. I hate to think of what that would have done to me if the knife were still in his hands. "Oh, come _on_ , is it that hard to listen? It's not like you can't--"

The pavement isn't any softer when my head bounces off it than I expected. That's going to leave a mark. Probably a bloody stain, too; I wonder if they have a hose long enough to wash this off before mortals show up in the morning. The Malakite puts one knee on my chest, slams his fist into my face. I've been here before, from the other direction. The difference is that I probably deserve this more than anyone I've beat up. His expression says there's nothing personal about this, which is fair. He's only doing his job, and if I were doing mine I'd have resonated him instead of blowing up his toys. That's how the game goes.

I had a feeling this was going to end up with me in Limbo. I could use a vacation, right?

That gunshot isn't silenced at all.

The Malakite pauses, looks up. "Friends?" he asks, and there's something to his face that tells me about all the scene I can't see behind me.

"Katherine," I say, "put the gun down."

"But he's--"

"Now, Katherine." Her voice is near hysterical, but she's seen me bloody before. Too much stress and sugar, not enough sleep. "It's just a misunderstanding." The Malakite gives me a sharp look at that, and I smile up at him through the blood on my face. "But we can't talk about it while you're waving that around, so go put the gun back in the car, okay?"

"He's _hitting_ you, Leo." She's lost the panic, back down into suspicion and worry. That's easier to deal with. "You're sure?"

"Very." I give the Malakite my own look, the one that says, if you're getting an ambiguous reading off of her, maybe you don't want to do anything hasty, do you? "You're not helping me explain this, Kathering. Put the gun down before someone gets hurt. I told you not to play with that."

"...okay."

I hear the rapid pad of footsteps running back towards the car, and I say quietly to the Malakite, "If you'll listen for a minute, maybe we can avoid traumatizing the child, okay?"

"What are you playing at, demon?" Now this, he's starting to take personally. I can live with that--or die with it, as the case might be--so long as he'll hold off on the killing part a little longer.

"I'll explain, if you'll give me a chance. Let me up?"

I check the back of my head once I'm back on my feet, and find my hands wet. Yeah, that left a mark. Good thing asphalt washes easily. He sticks close behind as I trek towards where Katherine's huddled on her seat in the car, door open.

"Hey," I say, and crouch down beside her. "Sorry if I scared you." I give a quick glance over my shoulder, find the Malakite watching. "I've been out and around for a while, so I didn't have the current codes, and it's his _job_ not to let in anyone who shouldn't be here."

She won't look at me. "Aunt Esther used to hit you," she says, voice thin. "After I found out she wasn't nice. Why do people keep doing it? Why do you _let_ them? I know you can make things break. You could stop them. And you keep letting them."

"It's complicated. But this is where we're supposed to be, and he's not going to do it anymore." Not where the human kid can see him. I stand up, and offer her a hand. "Grab your bag, and we'll work things out."

"I'm tired." She rubs rapidly at her nose, staring out the windshield. "I don't want to go inside."

"This is our stop, kid, so unless you want to sleep in the car, get moving." I pick up her bag myself, and a moment later she slides out of the car, face still sullen. "Come on."

"You're bleeding." She clings to my free hand, with a dark glare reserved for the angel who waits for us. "Because he hit you."

"It'll heal. And it looks worse than it is." I offer the Malakite a crooked grin as we fall into step beside him. I still smell faintly of smoke from where I jumped back to the corporeal plane. Battered clothes, bloody head, and a whining eight-year-old on my hand. Just what Trade wanted to see at four in the morning. "I can explain this to your supervisor once we're inside," I say, and then reconsider. "Unless the Seneschal's changed since I last heard, and you're it..."

"No," he says. Stares down at Katherine again, and he actually sighs, as if this is all too much for some poor Malakite to process without notice. "I might as well take you in and get this all sorted out."

I can read the unspoken "And then get to killing you once that's done with" lingering at the end of his sentence. I hope Katherine doesn't. So it's time to smile, smile, smile as if I know what I'm in for, and follow.

Once we're inside the building, the light of Heaven tingling all around me, the Malakite pulls out a cell phone and begins punching out text messages. He leads us up a series of stairs that leave Katherine dragging at my hand and making ready-to-tantrum noises by the top. "Almost there, kid," I mutter, as I don't want to deal with a full hissy fit right now. "Hold it together a little longer and we can get you a nap."

The Malakite knocks once on a door, then opens it before there's any answer. He watches the two of us walk inside. Wouldn't want the Calabite and the kid to act up in front of the Seneschal, no. I might scuff her desk before I got killed if he doesn't watch closely enough.

I've only seen this Seneschal in pictures, accompanied with a burst of resonated fear from the Habbalite to remind me to stay away from this one. The memories aren't that far gone; my stomach twists when I see the angel sitting behind the desk. She wears an equally neat business suit, folds her hands across the desk ever so precisely. "Have a seat," she says, and Katherine collapses into one of the two chairs. 

The Seneschal's bothered to age her vessel, hair graying at the edges and wrinkles beginning to set into that smooth face. She could be anyone's professionally-inclined mother, olive fingers laid over each other in straight lines. "I think I'd get it dirty," I say.

"It can be washed. Sit." Every word nuanced exactly as she wants it to be. I dislike dealing with Elohim; colder than Malakim, and faster to kill if they decide it's a good idea.

I drop down into the second chair, while the Malakite hovers behind me. What does he think I'm going to do? I'm in the locus of a Tether straight to Heaven, staring at the Seneschal. If I were in a suicidal mood, I could've let him shoot me out in the parking lot.

The Seneschal looks at Katherine, and puts on a smile as sincere as most of mine. "What's your name?"

Katherine looks to me, then back at the angel. "Katherine," she says. "Spelled with a K. Not a C."

"How do you feel, Katherine?"

"I'm _tired_." Her voice rises in frustration. "I wanna go to bed."

"Then we won't keep you any longer." The Seneschal looks to the Malakite behind me. "Would you take her to the employee lounge? The one with the blue couch. She can nap there while we're discussing other matters."

"Don't wanna go," Katherine mutters, but her heart isn't in it. I pass over her bag, and nod to her. With the look that tells her, this is not a time to make a fuss. "Night," she says, and drops half a hug around me on the way out. "I don't like _him_ ," she adds, as the Malakite opens the door for her. "He's not nice..."

The door shuts behind them.

The Elohite taps one key on her keyboard. Disturbance shivers past me, and for an instant there's a Seraph before me, graceful serpentine body and feathered wings, nearly as beautiful as a Balseraph. It blinks its six eyes at me, one long ripple, then it's only a tall man with a sharp face. "Peniel will be observing our conversation," the Seneschal tells me, voice sliding back into the cold blankness of her Choir now that there's no human in the room to play nice for. "Do you understand?"

"That it's stupid to lie in front of a Seraph, and that he'll pick more out of my words than I want? Yes, I understand fine." I let myself slouch down in the chair now that Katherine's gone, sore and annoyed and more frightened than I'd like to admit to anyone. But you can't hide that from people who read your emotions and the truth behind your words. I'm never sure what's worse, Balseraphs getting into my head and twisting what I believe or Seraphim getting into my head and knowing what I believe. I'm better at dealing with the former.

"Why did you come here?" So we're starting with the easy questions. Maybe they'll break out the thumbscrews when we get down to fine points of theology.

"To drop off the kid. I would've gone for Flowers over Trade, but the only Flowers Tether I couldn't reach isn't a good idea at this point." The Seraph isn't as good at sitting still as the Elohite is; he fidgets with something in a pocket as I speak, staring at my face.

"Why did you bring her here?"

"Damned if I know, but since Flowers wasn't available..." I shrug, and resist the urge to poke at the aching spot at the back of my head. "You're angels. I figure you're unlikely to kick her out again once she's dropped off. You have resources, you can figure out a good place for her. She'll try to burn things down a few times, but it's not a deeply ingrained habit, so it shouldn't be hard to train her out of it again. Probably oughta keep her away from matches. And firearms."

The Elohite watches me, not blinking. I stare right back. "Perhaps I'm asking the wrong questions," she says. "Why did you want to bring the child to a Heavenly Tether?"

"You know how it goes. Something comes up, and suddenly your lifestyle can't accommodate a kid tagging along..." The Seraph's eyes narrow at me. Entirely humorless, that type. "More to the point, I can't watch out for her anymore. It's your turn."

"Why do you care what happens to her, that'd you go to all this trouble to bring her here?"

Couldn't we get back to discussions of my most recent dishonorable acts? "If I didn't get her to a secure location, the War would take her. Hard to get much more secure than a Heavenly Tether."

"You're not answering the question I asked. Why do you care?"

"Why do you care? Don't you have better questions to ask?" I'm annoyed, and then further annoyed because I know she can tell and that it does me no good to hide it. "Ask me about my Prince, my plans, who I killed last week, how this is the Tether I know, something _relevant_. She's an eight-year-old human and no one would notice when she disappeared if I hadn't been dragging her around this long. In the grand scheme of things, she doesn't even _matter_."

"Don't presume to judge the value of what you don't even understand," says the Elohite, no more bite to her voice than in anything else she's said. "You're asking us to use time and resources on a problem you've created, and you nearly lost your vessel doing so. I intend to know why before any further negotiation begins."

I don't know what kind of answer she wants. "They would've taken her and made her their own. I should know, I was helping them do it. But she's not theirs to take, and I'll give her away myself before I let them keep my investment and use it for their own purposes. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Yes," says the Seneschal. "Clear enough. Now we can discuss why you're in such a hurry to get away from people you once worked with. After that..." She tilts one hand in the air, a practiced gesture. "We can begin negotiations. I would like to see what you have to bring to the table, Destroyer."

"The name's Leo," I say. "Where do you want to start?"


	20. In Which I Am In No Position To Argue, But Do So Anyway

It's seven in the morning. I know this because the Seraph keeps checking his cell phone for text messages, and I can see the time display from where I sit. In the space of three hours I've given them enough information to get my Forces scattered for treachery a dozen times over, assuming they weren't planning on doing that for the whole Renegade thing anyway. I have no idea if it's enough to buy me the right to walk out of here alive.

"This is my offer," says the Elohite. I'm surprised that she doesn't have a printed text to go with the verbal description. "You return to the place where you so recently propagated mayhem, and work to correct what you did. In exchange, we don't kill you here. I don't believe you'd like to come out of Limbo into a Tether of Trade."

"It would stain your carpet anyway," I say, and slouch back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. I don't care if the Seraph's staring at me. I've gotten used to it. I've even stopped being afraid of what they might do to me. All I am is tired, exhausted by this process and by the stupid traps I've chased myself into. At this rate I'll need to gnaw off a leg. "No deal."

"You do realize we could kill you."

"Realize it? I expected it. And I'll take Limbo over giving the War another shot at me any day." I close my eyes while the two angels in the room exchange their obligatory significant glances. "Next?"

"You don't have much to offer here, Leo. What do you want?"

The favor of my Prince, a steady Role far from people who would hurt me, a library full of good books, Regan smiling at me like she means it. "Nothing you can get me. What do you want that'll let me walk out of here?"

"I made you an offer."

"Walking out of here with a Malakite escorting me back to a place where I'll get killed or worse doesn't count. I told you what's going on." What I know of it, what I've figured out, the company involved and what the results are likely to be. I left Regan and Yejide out of the story as best I could, vaguely discussed coworkers in the area. I don't know why I bothered. They'd both shoot me on sight.

"You've demanded a great deal of us."

I open my eyes again, mostly so that I can roll them at her. "Hey, if you want to claim you'd kick the kid out on account of what I've done, go for it. But you work for a Mercurian, and all the propaganda I've encountered aside, I don't think you'd do that. We've established that you can kill me, and that I'm sufficiently fed up that I'm not perturbed. You want more help on a project that's not even about you? Make me a better offer."

"It involves Heaven, and so it involves us. We're not so self-centered as any of the Princes you've served." The Seneschal considers me for a moment, no doubt resonating her little heart out. I don't think knowing that I'm irate and tired and too frustrated to be afraid helps her plan. "Consider this. In the company of an angel, you may return quietly to where you worked before, help us acquire enough information to foul the plans of those you've professed a distaste for, and then go on your way. If you do not, you'll be killed here, and when you return in whatever vessel you can make for yourself in Limbo, you'll return...here. Do you want to renegotiate then?"

"I don't believe you'd let me go at the end of that deal." I know enough about Malakim to be sure that their honor doesn't extend to letting demons go after a bout of cooperation. We covered it in the class taught by that old Djinn back in Sheol: a Seraph will never lie (though you have to look for loopholes), but a Malakite will never keep a promise that lets you live. It's not in their nature. "If you're going to kill me either way--"

"I do not break my promises," says the Seneschal, and if she weren't an Elohite, I'd think she were annoyed. She's certainly putting on a good show of it. "If we make a deal to let you go freely once you've completed your end of the bargain--"

"Then you'll word it in such a way that you can always claim I didn't do my part well enough. I'm not stupid, and this isn't the first time I've dealt with angels."

"I am no Lilim," says the Elohite, and she's now taking the time to indicate quiet anger. It's an admirable acting job. "If I make a bargain with you, I will hold to the spirit as well as the letter of the agreement. So will those who work for me. If you refuse to accept this, I cannot deal with you, and I will have no choice but to have you killed here."

My options are limited. This is to be expected. I run one hand through blood-matted hair, and go for broke. "Fine. I'll deal with you, on one more condition. I am _not_ going anywhere with a Malakite. Send someone else."

"It's an acceptable compromise," says the Elohite, now back to a neutral tone with hints of warmth. Sure, they're happy when I give them what they want. "I'll have the contract written up. Most Holy, please escort him over to say goodbye to the child."

I follow the Seraph out into the hallway, hands in my jacket pockets. "What, you're not worried about employees seeing me like this?"

"They seldom enter this part of the building," he says. "Besides, it's Saturday."

"Is it? I lost track." Time's gone funny since I got killed. Trauma and running Renegade will do that to a guy. I search out the name the Seneschal used for him earlier: Peniel. "So, tell me, Penny. What do you do around here when you're not on lie detector duty?"

"Those duties I'm assigned." So he's not one for small chat. He leads the way into an employee lounge, currently holding one couch, one television set, a small kitchen section, and a great deal of broken glass scattered across the floor. Plus Katherine, asleep on the couch, and the Malakite, trying to sweep up the glass.

The Malakite glares at me as I enter. "What have you been _teaching_ her?"

"Not to repress?" I crunch my way across the floor, and take a seat on the couch. "Katherine?"

She opens her eyes promptly: not asleep, only pretending to be. "We're going now?" she asks, and swallows a yawn. "Somewhere for breakfast? I want waffles. They never served waffles at the school. The food was awful."

"Considering what I made for breakfast, that's saying something." I pull her in for a quick hug, and note how both angels in the room twitch at it. "I'm heading out now, Katherine, and you're going to hang out here for a while."

"An hour?" She's suspicious already. Smart kid.

"More like a week. Maybe more." I lower my voice to a confidential near-whisper. "We need to get back to dealing with that problem that sent me running here in the first place before it gets too far along. This is important, Katherine. You know I wouldn't ditch you like this otherwise."

"I want to go too." She puts on her most stubborn face, and clings to me. "I don't even know these people. And _he_ keeps telling me not to do stuff," she adds, indicating the Malakite with her chin.

"So maybe you should listen to him. Their place, their rules." I detach her hands from my waist. "Hey. Don't look at me like that. I always come back for you, don't I?"

"Yes..."

"So there you go. It might be a while, but I'll be back, just like always. And now I need to go, because I'm in a hurry, Katherine." I stand up before she can reattach herself. "Get some more sleep. And no setting anything important on fire while I'm gone, understand?"

"...'kay." She's disappointed, but too tired to argue, already yawning again. "What about setting stuff on fire if it's not so important?"

"I leave that up to your good judgment," I say, and we grin at each other. Then it's time for me to leave before the Malakite decides to go postal on me with the fire extinguisher.

Penny waits until we're halfway back to the Seneschal's office before saying, "You didn't mean it."

"What part?"

"About coming back. You don't intend to come back for her."

I shrug off the comment. "If she's lucky She's safer the further she is from me."

"So why did you promise to come back, when you know you won't?"

"I'm a demon," I say. "I lie. It's sort of a package deal."

The Seneschal does have a contract ready for me, full of carefully-worded clauses about what constitutes a good faith effort on my part and theirs. I skim, then sign. Not an awful lot of choices available to me at this point. "So who's getting sent along to babysit?"

"Peniel will accompany you," says the Elohite, and the Seraph flinches beside me. Duties he's assigned, check. "There's a shower down the hall, and a cupboard with spare clothing. I recommend that you employ both before leaving. As the vehicle you arrived in appears was stolen, we'll send you in one of the spare cars." She passes the set of keys to the Seraph, who gives her a look I can't decipher, but would guess to be something along the lines of "Why do _I_ get stuck babysitting the Renegade Calabite when we have a perfectly good Malakite around for these things?"

"Great," I say. "I'm sure we'll have a blast. Or get blasted to bits, whichever comes first."

Half an hour later, I'm taking the company's car back in a direction I don't want to go while a Seraph pokes away at his PDA beside me. The scratching sound gets annoying, so I turn on the radio. Some commercial begins blathering about the latest sitcom.

Penny leans forward and changes the channel until he finds a classical station. "Are you trying to annoy me?"

"No, but if you react in a sufficiently amusing way to minor annoyances, I might start."

He stares at me, and I smile cheerfully back at him as I drive. "I...can't decide if I'm pleased that you spoke the truth or concerned that what you said was the truth."

"I think you're allowed to be both." I flip on the cruise control as we settle onto the highway, zipping along at precisely the speed limit. "Look on the bright side. You won't have to worry about this situation for long."

"You seem to be in good spirits for a Renegade demon heading back into danger," he says, barely audible beneath the enthusiastic strings coming from the radio.

"At this point, I'm screwed no matter which way I turn. I can enjoy knowing that out of all the ways I could end up with a messy death, this is the one I chose for myself. Nothing quite like self-determination to put me in a good mood."

Penny eyes me more suspiciously, though I don't know what he could have found in my last few sentences to quibble over. Talking to a Seraph is almost refreshing in how straightforward it is. He'll know whenever I'm lying, so why not stop pretending and offer the gospel truth as it comes to me? "You're strange," he finally pronounces.

"I'm a Calabite, with all the Discord that brings, and then a broken-Hearted Renegade with more Discord from that. If I weren't a little cracked around the edges, it would be time for people to start worrying." I turn the radio back off, now that there's conversation to keep me entertained. Fine, not so much "entertained" as "able to ignore the shrieking in the back of my head", but I'll take what I can get. It's going to be a very long time before I'm in the right frame of mind (and have enough idle time) to discuss my issues with myself.

"What new Discord have you picked up?"

"Don't know yet! It'll an adventure to find out. If you're lucky, it'll send me into a frothing red rage the next time I get jumped, and you won't have to worry about letting me go because I'll have gotten myself killed." The chipper edge to my voice is starting to worry even me. "If _I'm_ lucky it'll be more of my old Discord, but I haven't been lucky in a long time, so I'm not holding my breath."

"What's your old Discord?" I'm not sure I should enjoy the trace of dread in that question as much as I am. Wait, demon, right. I get to enjoy the suffering of others all I want.

"Even before I broke my Heart, I wasn't dropping by to say hello to it very often." I flip off the cruise control to pass a camper towing an SUV. Some day, when I'm vastly powerful, I'm going to force the population of this entire country to switch to hybrid sedans and motorcycles. "As Discord goes, it's not bad. I never get to go home, but when home is Hell, this isn't a downside. And it means I always knew I was never going to get promoted, because you don't do that to someone who can't stop by the home office for a chat. But so what? I'm not an ambitious sort."

"If you're not ambitious, what do you want?"

I shrug, slip back into the steady pace of highway driving. It doesn't require enough attention to distract me from my own mind, so conversation will have to do. "You work for Trade, Penny. Isn't it your job to figure that out?"

"Is this another attempt to annoy me?"

I take a moment to think about this. "Yeah, probably. I mean, right now, I have two choices. I can either keep driving back towards a city where people are looking for me and both sides of the conflict are going to want me dead, Flowers possibly excepted, while having a stupid little chat with you about whatever comes to mind. Or I can think about where I'm going, have a complete nervous breakdown, and drive off an overpass in an attempt to escape the inevitable. So between the two options, annoying you is the best thing I could be doing right now, from your point of view. Am I wrong?"

Penny blinks me at me, very slowly. It reminds me terribly of Regan when she's trying to decide if I'm clever enough to be appreciated or too clever and needing correction. "If those are the only two options, the one you've chosen is better for my purposes. I don't believe those are the only options." His long fingers go tap, tap, tap on one knee as he watches me. "We may be able to remove this problem you've caused without leaving you dead, and at that point, there are...more options. If you care to take them."

"Don't." He opens his mouth, and I say, " _Don't_ ," more of a snarl than I've shown him before. "I know where you're trying to go, and let's stick to the point where I'm cheerful and trying to get on your nerves, because we don't want to go there. I'm doing this for my own reasons, but I don't intend to hang around anyone connected to Heaven once this is done. Better for you, and better for me. I've worked with angels before, and it didn't end well for any of us, so I'm going to learn from experience and not do that again."

"...and that would be why you didn't want to take the child to a Tether of Judgment?" I do believe the Seraph read more than usual out of what I said.

"For some reason, triads take it all _personally_ when you drop a building on them." It was a lovely plan, that one, well-placed explosives, a remarkably good setup for something I had to cobble together at the last minute... Aside from the part where I died. And the dying part was Regan's fault. Not that I'm thinking about her right now. "Or so I'm told. I'm not in any hurry to interact with Judgment again. In any capacity."

"That would probably be safer for you," Penny says. He leans his seat back, one arm propped against the window and the other stretched out to let his fingers tap, tap, tap on his knee. I can't call it drumming, with pauses like that between each tap. "Do you ever regret what you've done?"

"I thought we weren't going to talk about this."

"Indulge my curiosity. You may go back to annoying me afterwards." He's pulled on a calm as unruffled as any Elohite could manage. "Have you ever regretted your actions?"

"When it ends up screwing me over? Sure. Who doesn't regret their own mistakes?" I find I'm doing fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit, and take my foot off the gas pedal. "Stupid question."

"And how your actions affected others? You never regret that?"

I liked Holly, with her stupid human habits and stupid crush on me, no matter that she was a fool who wanted to make other people happy. But her death wasn't my fault, and I'm not thinking about that right now either. "It's called sociopathy," I say. "Look it up, some time."

"You could--"

"No. I couldn't. I don't care about people. I can fake it well when someone's looking, and I can appreciate what benefits I get out of a relationship, but empathy? Is not something I do. Stop digging around trying to find the warm fuzzy goodness inside of me, because you're not going to find any, and you'll end up with dirty hands." The driver behind us gives me a rude gesture as she swings around to pass on the right. So now I'm doing ten miles per hour below the speed limit. It's not like I'm in any hurry to get to our destination. "Do you want breakfast?"

He frowns at me, over that sharp hooked nose that seems to go well with the whole "most holy" thing the Seraphim lay claim to. No other Choir or Band gets the superlative, but they have to be the Most Holy. They have egos nearly as large as those of Balseraphs. "Neither of us needs to eat," he says.

"I didn't ask if you needed breakfast, I asked if you _wanted_ breakfast. Distinct difference here, I'd think a Seraph of all angels would pay attention to the details of word choice in a question." I swing off at the next exit before he can form an objection. "I need to sit down somewhere that isn't going Light of Heaven at me for an hour before I keep going. Besides, I can fill up the tank while I'm there." I flash him my most charming smile, the one no one should believe. "Don't worry. I'm buying."

Penny frowns more sternly at me. "The money you'd pay with isn't yours."

I have a marvelous smile for the Seraph. "According to the whims of Windys and nine tenths of the metaphorical law, it is now."


	21. An Interlude, In Which I Am Still Not A Happy Camper

The Seraph followed one step behind, watching for he didn't know what. A sign he hadn't picked up yet, the clues he was awaited if he stared long enough, listened hard enough. The hallway in this building wore wealth in a manner that didn't match what he saw in the Calabite who walked in front of him. "You lived here?"

"For a while." One casual glance over his shoulder down the hallway, then Leo crouched down to pick the lock. Assuming the angel at his back would watch for anyone coming. No stranger than any other assumptions the demon had made so far. "It's not my place, just where I ended up after that Malakite got the jump on a Shedite in my place and Katherine moved to boarding school. Wasn't my idea, but what has been lately?"

"Who does the apartment belong to?"

"Condo, not apartment. She's pretty firm on that matter. Apartments are rented, condos are owned, and Regan's not the sort to rent when she can possess." The Calabite stood up, staring at the door. "Possessive bastard that she is." He turned the doorknob, and stepped inside.

Penny followed, shut the door. Nothing inside looked as if a Calabite had lived there. Pristine, orderly, coordinated. He couldn't reconcile it with the demon who slouched about in an old coat and went through a pack of cigarettes on the drive over, talking about a thousand meaningless topics with a half dozen items of importance buried beneath, ashes scattered about them in the car as Leo gestured with the burning cigarette and never bothered to smoke it. It wasn't like watching television, riddled with half-truths and outright lies; every word the demon said seriously he meant, and most of it was true. Not all, though. Those were the items of importance, where the demon believed one thing and the Symphony whispered out a different answer. "Regan. The Balseraph?"

"That's the one. If you want scotch, it's in the kitchen." Leo flipped open the laptop that sat on the glass-topped desk. "Let's see what we can pull up."

"I'm not interested in drinking anything. Will you be able to access her files?" The Seraph leaned over the demon's shoulder, watching fingers rattle across the keyboard.

"She's a lovely Serpent, and if you want someone dead she's your girl, but Regan isn't as smart as she likes to think. I don't like dealing with computers more than I absolutely have to, the little suckers die half an hour after I touch them, so she doesn't try to hide her passwords." Spreadsheets blossomed on the screen, text documents, database files. "Gotta love the high speed internet connection. Give me an email address, and I'll have everything important on here sent wherever you want."

Penny typed in the appropriate email address, and, on consideration, added a few more places for the files to be copied to. "How did you know she wouldn't be here?"

"Checked her parking space in the garage on the way in. She's not one for walking when she can drive." Leo left the computer to Penny, collapsed on the couch with the air of someone who'd found himself in this place many times before. "She could have had her car in the shop and been here when showed up, and that would have been awkward. Fortunately, that wasn't the case. How much longer until the files are done?"

Penny checked the computer screen. "According to this estimate, five minutes."

"Told her she should have sprung for commercial-grade broadband instead of standard cable," the demon said, and propped his feet up on one arm of the couch. "What's next on the magical mystery tour?"

"We need information from the second demon you were working with. Yejide?"

"That's going to be trickier." Leo frowned up at the ceiling, and Penny could nearly see the gears turning, like some infernal Vapulan device grinding through data to find a solution. Not a good solution, or an elegant one, but a bloody resolution to the problem it was given. "Especially if either of them sniffs out that I'm back, and I'm not sure they believe I left. Yejide knows her brain's a little fuzzy at the edges, so she's a lot more careful. She's not going to leave data sitting around to be swiped. If we'd spent the last week working on relevant issues so that I had the data, instead of planning a stupid--" The Calabite cut off his sentence with an irritable gesture. "This would have worked so much better if I'd _planned_ for any of it. I hate last-minute improvisation. Give me three months to plan it all out, and I could have done a much better job."

"True," Penny murmured, and shut down the computer. He raised his voice. "We should hurry; the greater the delay, the more chance we'll be discovered. However, we could stop at a local Tether to discuss strategy with others before making plans."

"Not the Stone Tether, I hope. They don't like either of us." Leo swung down his feet to sit up again, arms spread across the back of the couch. "Why doesn't Stone like Trade?"

The Seraph considered possible responses to this. "It's complicated."

"I can barely begin to imagine." Leo broke off as they heard the scrape of a key in the lock outside. "...oh, that's not good." He was off the couch and moving back out of the space visible to the door by the time Penny could come to the same conclusion and follow.

The woman who stepped into the apartment wore a vessel crafted to inspire confidence in those who saw it, tall and sleek-haired with an elegant face. Her footsteps were placed one in front of the other, the easy stride of a Servitor of the War confident in her own footing. Penny loathed her on sight. He waited in the short hall from living room to bedrooms, a Calabite breathing quietly behind him, for her to close the door. It occurred to the Seraph that he should have asked for a physical description of the known demons; this could be the Balseraph or the Lilim, from what information he had.

The door clicked shut. Penny stepped out into the room, calling his knife from potential to existence in his hand, and attacked.

The Balseraph, then: her sword appeared in one hand, and she moved towards him, blade flickering as she smiled. "Here I was thinking this would be another dull afternoon," she said, steel flashing faster than he could counter. A thin red line burned its way across his left shoulder. "I'm guessing you're not Flowers, but Stone doesn't hit first--does it count if you only try to attack, and don't connect?" His knife skidded along her sword. She parried lazily as he retreated from a swing, half a stumble as he recalled the couch behind him. No help from the Calabite, not that he'd expected much. It wasn't in the contract.

He nicked her wrist, barely a touch, and she returned the favor with a point digging deep into his side, enough that her blade was wet and red when she drew it back. "I'd ask how you tracked me down," she said, driving him towards a wall with practiced moves. He knew the forms, moved to counter them, found himself too slow or too weak to hold her back. "I'd rather like to know. But I don't think I'd get a straight answer out of you, so I'll settle for carving you up." She added, tone casual, as he narrowly avoided a blade to the throat, "It's going to be harder to get rid of bodies, now."

And she took a clumsy half-step forward, feet regaining their balance, as the floor around her feet crumbled into a tangle of shredded carpet and rough cement. "So nice to know I'll be missed," Leo said, and hit her in the back of the head with a book.

The Seraph found himself abandoned as the Balseraph turned in the direction of the other demon, as if he were insignificant with his sharp knife and bloody clothes. She sang out Shields, barrier to any attempt on his part to hit her from behind in the moment of distraction, but the Calabite was already scurrying back, out of the range of that trap. He said something in Helltongue, the Balseraph replied, and Penny scrambled to grab the laptop. What information hadn't been found might still be valuable.

The conversation the two of them were engaged in didn't seem to involve him, twisted words he couldn't comprehend burning against his ears. Penny pressed one hand to his deepest wound, and wondered how long the barrier would hold.

The Balseraph pulled out a cell phone, smirking. That couldn't be a good sign.

Leo gestured vaguely, expression irate, and the cell phone dissolved into fragments. "I think I'd rather keep this incident between the three of us," he said, back in English, and speaking truth that didn't scrape along all the Seraph's senses.

"I should have expected this," said the Balseraph, narrow eyes and arrogant expression looking down at the Calabite who stood just outside the range of those shields. "I always knew you couldn't handle the pressure."

"You would believe that," Leo said, one book tucked under his arm, and neither of them was paying much attention to the Seraph anymore. "But then, you always do believe what you say."

The shields fell, and all three of them moved at once.

There was, Penny reflected, a certain advantage to not being the focus of an angry Balseraph of the War's attention in combat situations. This time, no blade met his knife when he moved, and if the tangled collapse from the floor shredding about them wasn't to his liking, it seemed to be even less to the liking of the Balseraph beneath him, her sword trapped under three bodies, two of which wished to keep that sword down.

The Seraph wasn't clear on the sequence of events, but sure that his knife hit what he wished it to. He found himself beneath the Balseraph, his own knife pushing back towards him, and as the blade slid along his throat, she twitched, collapsed. Lay still on top of him while he tried to bring his own breathing back under control.

"Well," said Leo, standing up. "And she said books weren't good for anything." He set the blood-stained volume aside, offered the Seraph a hand up. The demon wore a strange and crooked smile, a bruise growing across half his face. "Good thing she was wearing that vessel. We would have had a harder time of it with the other one."

Penny took the hand, managed to stand. The floor was slick with blood laid over broken concrete. "What were you saying to her earlier?"

"Nothing important," said the Calabite, and the readings on this were...ambiguous. Penny chose not to press. "We'd better get out of here before she wakes up and wants to get stabbier. Don't suppose you know Corporeal Healing? No? Well, neither do I. This is going to be fun." Leo limped back into the condo. "I can lend you a shirt, but you're going to look ridiculous if you borrow my pants. You must be half a foot taller than I am. And there's not much I can do about that scratch on your throat."

"We ought to kill her," Penny said, wondering where all his diplomacy had gone. Drained out with the blood running from his side, perhaps. "Before she can wake up."

"Don't want to do that," said Leo, his voice floating back from where he'd disappeared into some bedroom. "She shows up in Hell around her Heart, people will wonder, and investigate. We'll end up with more trouble here than we planned on."

Penny found his knife, wiped it clean on the remains of his shirt. "Leo. Not only do they know you've gone Renegade in this city, when she wakes up, she'll be able to tell them that you're back, presumably with angelic reinforcements. Do you imagine that leaving her unconscious will _prevent_ additional trouble? If we kill her, we could make sure that what information she has is garbled and lost for a time."

"Hey," Leo said, as he came back out of the bedroom, dressed in clean clothes and carrying another shirt. "I don't tell you how to do financial transactions, do I? So why don't you stop trying to tell me how to deal with demons? We can both stick to what we're used to." He tossed the shirt over to Penny. "Get changed so we can get out of here. I'm guessing our next stop is the Flowers Tether, if only so that you don't keel over. You look like Hell. The bloodier parts of it."

The Seraph took off his shirt, wiped himself as clean as he could manage, and considered his words as he put on the clean one. "You don't believe it yourself," he said, finally. "You claim we should leave her here, but how can I believe this is the best solution when you don't?"

The Calabite looked away from him, towards the demon who lay bleeding and unconscious on the floor. "What does it matter? We're screwed either way. Let's get going and not waste the time here."

"I believe we ought to kill the Balseraph while we have the chance," Penny said, and drew his knife. "I can do it myself, if you'd rather not be involved."

"No." And suddenly there was a Calabite trying very hard to glare him in the eye, no matter the height difference. "You will not, or I will stab _you_ , got it? Now let's get going."

"Why do you care?"

"I _don't_ ," Leo snarled. "Let's go."

The Seraph evaluated the situation. Put his knife away. "To the Flowers Tether," he said. "We'll discuss strategies there once we've spoken with them." He let himself be led out of the apartment without further actions, laptop under one arm, and didn't look back at the mess they'd left behind.


	22. In Which I Manage To Make New People Angry

There's no good way to get to the Flowers Tether in an inconspicuous manner, so I drive straight there and park in the back lot. Penny needs help in getting out of the car, all awkward long limbs trying to deal with blood loss and cut muscles. I'm not in good shape myself, though I was lucky to only get her attention for the second half of that tussle. I've gotten worse as an object lesson from Savas. Come to think of it, I've gotten worse from Katherine's old Cherub-turned-Djinn in one of her moods. One more plus of going Renegade, as long as I'm trying to compile a list: I'm never going to work with either of those demons again.

The back parking lot has a fancy iron gate set into the stone wall, with a sign listing the garden's hours. "Tell you what," I say, while Penny detaches himself from my shoulder to lean against the wall. "How about you head back to your Tether and call down a flock of Malakim to take care of all the demons in this city, and we call it a day?"

He smacks the button for the buzzer harder than it likely needed. "Why are you so eager to avoid this Tether, after walking into a Tether of Trade of your own volition?"

I shrug, and wait for someone to show at the gate. "Let's just say it's awkward to chat with people you were planning to kill."

The woman who shows at the gate is the one I remember from the city hall meeting. She moves faster once she's close enough to see what blood and bruises are visible after the vague attempt I made at cleaning up. Penny pushes himself up from the wall to stand in front of her, and I suspect the way he places himself between the two of us is deliberate. Like the gate and the contract aren't enough, and I intend to go do harm to her right now when I'm already Balseraph-battered and have no good reason to want to harass her. "Would you be Perle?" he asks, with an accent to the name that suggests it's a loose translation from another language. At her nod, "Peniel, Seraph of Trade. We sent an email--"

"Of course," says this other angel, Perle, of whatever type she might be. "Come in. We weren't expecting--well, I wasn't expecting the two of you to show up like this." A walking gate swings open for us, and Penny's supported by this new angel on a limping walk towards the house before I can step through. I wonder if they'd notice if I turned and left.

Probably.

I close the gate behind me, and follow.

The new angel does pause after she's ushered Penny into the house, holding the door open until I arrive. "And you must be Leo," she says. I can't interpret her tone; it's not as cold as I would have expected from an angel meeting me for the first time with an idea of who I am, nor as warm and fuzzy as one expects from Servitors of Flowers. "Why have you come here?"

People keep asking me stupid questions. "Well, there was a Malakite in the next room and a Seneschal in the same room, so it seemed like a good idea to go along with what they said rather than getting turned into a bloody smear on the carpet. Why else would I be hanging out with a Seraph?"

"You can't think of any reasons other than threatened violence?"

I step past her into the warmer air. Which she's letting out, with that door held open, and the heating bills must be horrendous already for a house this size. "It's sort of the lingua franca of celestial relations. Where'd Penny go?" The Seraph's disappeared while we were talking, and he's not bleeding heavily enough to give me a trail. A rattle of disturbance, Corporeal Healing edition, answers my question. I aim in that direction for the dubious comfort of sticking around a familiar angel, and leave Perle to work out when she wants to close that door.

The kitchen looks like the kind they put on the cover of magazines: copper pots, tile counters, wooden floors, and enormous curtain-covered windows that no doubt provide a fabulous view of the gardens during the day. Penny's washing his hands in the sink as I arrive, and a great deal perkier than before. Ling the brain-damaged Seraph sits at the table with a badly-made pottery mug in her hands, peering at this other Seraph, and there's a white-haired man leaning against the wall. Three guesses as to who the Seneschal of this place is, and the first two don't count. He gives me an searching gaze as I show up, and ten to one I just got pinged by one of those really _annoying_ resonances.

Ling turns to look at me, and blinks rapidly, a flutter of two eyes on someone used to six. "But I know you," she says.

"That you do." No one seems inclined to offer to heal me, so I drop into another chair at the table across from her.

"But you're a _demon_." Poor little Seraph sounds terribly confused now, with a hint of indignation creeping in. "I didn't know!"

"That was the idea, kid. We don't advertise." It's been something under forty-eight hours since I broke my Heart, and despite not needing to sleep I desperately want a nap. I don't know what I'd do with one if I had it, but I _want_ one. Why do humans get all the useful stress-relief techniques like sleep and denial and fuzzy memories while all I get is blowing things up? Like that's been useful lately.

"Where's Katherine?" The little Seraph's gone white-knuckled on the table, leaning across like she might do something. I'm pretty sure that's non-standard behavior for a Seraph of Flowers.

"In the custody of Trade, so unless you have reason to suspect them of nefarious intent, she should be fine." I pull out my reassuring smile, though I'm not really in the mood to wear it tonight. "Relax."

Ling stands up, chair clattering back behind her. Perle rushes over to her, all the movement screaming that this is an attuned Cherub. I wouldn't have expected them to let a Seraph that mindless wander around without a keeper; it makes me wonder how she got far enough unnoticed to talk to me at the school. "I am not happy!" she wails, a thin sound too small for even her thin vessel. "I didn't _know_."

"It's okay," Perle says, holding this tiny Seraph to her, and Penny stares at me like this is somehow my fault. It's not like I went out of my way to traumatize the kid. "It's okay, she's safe, you don't have to worry."

"I need to go make my mind not work the way it's working right now," Ling says, and pulls free to walk briskly out of the room, not looking at me as she passes. "I need to go open up a computer right now." And then she's gone, Perle following after her with another glare for me, and when did everything become my fault?

"Well," says the man who's been leaning against the wall all this time. "I suppose we ought to get your side of the story." He takes the seat Ling's abandoned, moving the mug out of the way. I think dropping it on the floor would be doing the room a favor.

"Do you have to?" I slouch down in my chair, and watch Penny take a seat on the far side of the table. It's a sign of my own frayed nerves that I wish he were sitting beside me instead. "We could skip right to the part where you angels handle the situation while I skip town. I have no great desire for my voice and opinions to be heard."

"I'd like to know how you view things," the man says. "Different perspectives are important in approaching a problem." He's as calm as the last Seneschal I talked to, and if I'm stuck facing another Elohite, I'm going to be annoyed. Okay, _more_ annoyed, if such a thing is possible. I've hit so many emotional extremes today I'm starting to go numb. "How do you view this whole situation?"

"What's there to view? Demon Prince of the War decides he wants this dinky city for I don't know what strategic reasons, sends in a few Servitors to work out the details, and then follows this up by letting his officers micromanage the whole project into a failure state that gets blamed on whoever's lowest on the ladder. This time it's me. That is, as they say, the way the cookie crumbles." I search my pockets and find I left the last few cigarettes in the shirt I ditched back at Regan's condo. This is probably a no-smoking zone anyway. "At the rate the situation's going, you might not have to do anything. Sit back and let the plan fall apart on its own."

This angel, who still hasn't given me a name, says, "It doesn't seem that way from my point of view. You burned down three buildings next to the Tether of Stone."

"So what?" I need something to gesture with, pen or cigarette or fork, but I don't have anything handy so I end up with my arms crossed over my chest. It's a defensive gesture, but I'm not concerned with how my body language is reading to them. "Stupid idea. A direct attack on Stone leaves you with a city crawling with Malakim, an alert Seneschal, and a good reason for the whole community to pull together. The time limit meant I couldn't stir up tensions between different factions in the area, not that Baal seems to understand how useful factions can be in a hostile maneuver, so unless the point of the attack was property damage, the whole exercise was worse than useless. You want to break up a community, don't give them an outside force to band together against. Dig them up from inside, toss money at one half and not the other, watch them divide themselves up and find other interests now that there's no hardship to push against. Either that or run them down so far they're in direct competition with each other for basic survival, but it's hard to do that subtly."

The probable-Seneschal sits quietly for a long moment after I've finished, until I'm in nearly as fidgety a state as Katherine gets on car drives. I could go for blowing something up right now, but I suspect they'd quibble if I tried. "What would you have done with Flowers?"

Should have figured they'd get to this. I tilt my head back until I'm looking at the wooden beams of the ceiling. "Much simpler than Stone, given the Tether in question. The others considered you irrelevant, and weren't planning on confronting you directly, aside from the matter with Ling. I figured this was a bad idea, but it's not like they listened to _me_ when I chose to disagree. Burning down the house wouldn't do it, but it would be a good start, and it's not like it's that difficult to find and use chemicals that are toxic to plants--"

"Back up," he says. "What about Ling? Why would they care about her?" His tone's turned sharp enough that I'm no longer sure he's an Elohite.

"Seraph of Flowers. The attunement's too inconvenient for them to want that in the area." I slouch further in my chair, and wish my face didn't ache. "But if you know one's there, all you need is a sniper rifle and a clear line of sight to take care of _that_ problem."

"How did you know she was a Seraph?" This from Penny, who leans forward with long fingers tapping on the table while he waits for the answer. To think I'd believed myself done with the interrogations when I left the Trade Tether.

"The way she talks. The way she moves. It was an educated guess. Nothing lost if we found out we'd guessed wrong." I gesture vaguely, and resist the urge to run from this claustrophobic kitchen with its bright copper pots gleaming at me. "Little details you learn to pick up o. She moves like a Balseraph more used to celestial form than a human vessel, and talks like a Balseraph that's lost a few Ethereal Forces, so if you have a probable-Balseraph in a Flowers Tether... Seraph of Flowers. Can't date a Balseraph for years without picking up on the signs."

Penny opens his mouth. Shuts it again. Leans back in his chair, his own arms crossed, and stares at me like he's trying to drill a hole through my forehead with the force of his gaze. 

The white-haired man sighs, a cottony sound. He looks like the sort of person who would play Santa Claus for the kids at Christmas. "Do you know what your former companions will do next, regarding this Tether?"

"No. I know what they _should_ do for their stated objectives, but experience tells me that'll have a minimal influence on what they do. And now that I've gone Renegade, they'll swap plans around to make sure I can't tell on them." If Katherine were here, she'd be rampaging about, and distracting people from me. I knew there was a reason I kept her around. That and the utility of having a human to start fires. "You might want to keep Ling away from open windows for a while."

"Mm." This Seneschal turns to Penny beside him at the table, and says, "Is he trying to be helpful, or trying to make me angry? I honestly can't tell?"

The Seraph spreads his hands. "Don't ask _me_."

"What, it can't be both?" I hook one foot under the table for support and tilt my chair back. "Look, I'm not some redemption-bait demon who wants warm fuzzy reassurances from anyone, and I'm not here to make you _happy_ , I'm here to help you break Baal's latest scheme. Note that I'm only doing that much because I was forced into the matter. Right now, it's in my best interests to let you know of potential sudden death, and if it maybe amuses me a little to be able to irk Flowers, what's that to you?"

"My head hurts," Penny says, rising abruptly. "If you'll excuse me--"

"Aspirin's in the bathroom cabinet, second floor, first door on your left," says the other angel. "Would you check on Ling and Perle while you're up? Third floor, end of the hall."

Leaving me alone with a stranger again. I'm getting tired of this. I'll grant that the angels playing hot potato with me is appropriate on a few levels, but are they afraid I'll contaminate someone if I spend too long with them? He gives me the steady look of an angel with a resonance that digs up bits of my mind, and I stare into the back of the kitchen at my hazy copper reflection in a pot. "I find it interesting," he says, "the way your relationships control you. For all your protests, the connection to that child who isn't here lies stronger than any but a few others."

"It's only a sign that I don't know many people," I say, and file away the Mercurian note for possible later use. "Used to know more, but that was back when I had a steady Role."

"As an architect, yes." I blink at him, and his smile's nearly smug. "You haven't dealt with my Choir much before, have you?"

"Haven't dealt with angels much, period. Until I started getting dragged into War missions, I kept out of the way of the Host." My first formal introduction to angels was when Regan lost a vessel to a Mercurian. That kind of lesson really sticks.

"Give me your hand, and I'll take care of those injuries for you." It's a better offer than I expected, so I drop my chair back down to the ground and lean across the table to offer him my hand. To regret it, when his hand wraps around mine tightly enough that I don't think I _could_ pull away if I tried. "Now listen to me, Leo," says this Mercurian, serious wiping out all his smiles now. "And don't interrupt until I'm done."

I nod, blank out my face until I'm not giving him any body language to read from. Nothing but my pulse on that wrist, maybe.

"My name is Iris, and I'm the Seneschal of this place, as you've likely guessed. If you want sanctuary, you may have it, for as long as you follow the rules of this place. If you leave here and choose not to return for years, this offer will remain, so long as I am Seneschal and this Tether remains. However. If you harm anyone under my protection here, or indirectly harm them through deliberate action, I will give you cause to remember that even Flowers employs Malakim, and that our commitment to peaceful solutions has limits." He doesn't bother to sing, only a clatter of Essence and all my bruises and cuts heal themselves in an instant. "I suspect you'll be visiting the Stone Tether next, and they have reason to be angry at you before you even arrive. Do you know not to hit first?"

Questions probably mean the obligatory redemption speech is over. "I'm not an idiot."

"Possibly not, but you are a fool. I'm trying not to hold it against you." Iris still has my wrist caught in an iron grip, and I wonder what he'd do if I _did_ try to pull away. Holding on probably doesn't count as violence for their dissonance conditions. "Now. Tell me how those demons who still serve Baal in this city might try to hurt Ling."

"Sniper rifle's the best option. Probably Yejide behind that one, though Regan's not a bad shot if pressed and given the time. Perle ought to know it's coming if she's attuned, but I Ling's not good about sticking to this garden like she's supposed to, is she?" I choose not to mention that I would have been the one looking through those sights.

"Children wander." The kettle on the stove begins whistling. How traditional. Iris lets go of my hand and stands up; I tuck the arm away before he can take it up again. "Tea?" 

"No thanks."

"Something stronger,? If you're speaking with Stone next, you might need it." He looks over his shoulder from where he pours a cup of hot water, and offers a smile so small I could think I was imagining it. "I know I would."

"If you offer me whiskey, please don't be offended if I hide under the table. But a beer would be fine." I shut up and wait while he finishes making himself tea, and then, wonder of wonders and the strangest thing that's happened to me in a few very strange days, the Mercurian of Flowers brings me a beer from the fridge. 

Struck by a fit of good behavior, I snap the cap off instead of resonating it away. Iris apparently feels he's said what he has to, because he leans back in his chair with that cup of tea while I drink my beer, which is in a blank brown bottle, and very good. "What brand is this?"

"No brand," he says, and there's that almost-smile again, that I trust more than the earlier serenity or smugness. "A friend of mine brews his own. I don't see him often since he began working for Lightning, but he sends along a case once a year."

"And you're wasting it on me?" I have no intention of letting the pseudo-friendly atmosphere get to me, not when I have places to go and people to avoid seeing, but for the moment, the room is warm, the beer is good, and the cold glass bottle in my hand provides something for me to think about rather than those topics I'd rather avoid.

"If you appreciate it, it's not wasted." He takes his time over the mug of tea--less hideous, and by the looks of it, made by the same person as the other dreadful mug on the table--before speaking again, and I'm happy to take equal time on my beer. "What do you intend to do, once this is all over and Trade lets you go free?"

"Leave," I say. "Get as far as I can from anyone who'd recognize me, keep moving..." I shrug, and occupy myself with the bottle. "It's not like I started out with a plan. I'll come up with one once I have some more breathing space. I mean, I don't need to eat, sleep, stay out of the rain... If I have to, I can hole up somewhere uncomfortable until I work something out."

"Sounds unpleasant."

"Story of my life. I'll take unpleasant circumstances over stupid orders." I trace pictures in the table with the condensation that's dripped off the bottle, floor plans for buildings I'll never design. "For all that it likes to spout off about the grand rebellion against the Tyrant, Hell's not too fond of letting people make choices."

"It wouldn't be. Its definition of freedom includes being able to impose your will on anyone who can't resist." He finishes his cup of tea, sets it aside on the counter behind him. I need to get out of here before I start liking this place. "I'm not fond of the idea of setting you off to do the same to the world. But when Trade signs a contract, they keep to it."

"If you're worried about me leaving a trail of destruction in my wake, rest assured, I don't want the attention." The beer is, alas, all gone now. "Nothing like the threat of getting hit from both sides to keep me on my best behavior."

"There are subtler forms of evil than those that cause disturbance," Iris says, but either from my expression or because Penny steps back into the room, chooses not to pursue the issue.

"Ling's been distracted from her distress with the prospect of computer files to pull apart," Penny says, and he doesn't sit down this time, only leans in the doorway where I have to turn in my chair to see him. "We ought to speak with Stone. We didn't have an email address for the Seneschal, so we called ahead with the basics, but they'll need a complete debriefing. Do you have any further questions before we leave?"

"Not now," Iris says, and searches inside his jacket until he comes out with piece of flower-decorated notepaper. "Just a moment." He takes out a pen, and prints a phone number across, then hands it to me. "The number for the private line. If you change your mind, call. We have more resources at our disposal than you do."

I think there's as much chance of me deciding to hook up with Flowers as there is of Iris pulling a machine gun out from under his jacket, but I'm in no position to turn down emergency solutions. I take a look at the number, and stuff the paper into a pocket as I stand up. "Thanks."

"Good luck," Iris says. "You're going to need it."


	23. In Which, Surprisingly, I Do Not Die

"Why don't you talk to them?" If I refuse to leave the car, maybe he'll leave without me.

"They may ask questions I don't have answers for," Penny says, with patience so obviously layered onto his words that I know he's irate. "They're unlikely to be fond of me, either."

"Yes, but that's the 'My Archangel turns down your Archangel's party invitations' level of snubbing, not the 'You tried to burn down my Tether' level. There's a certain gap between the two."

Penny gets out of the car, walks around to my side, and yanks the door open. "This meeting with Stone falls under the terms of the contract. If you don't come along, you _will_ be in violation of that contract."

Which translates into me keeling over as all the Essence bound into that paper I signed suddenly turns into bodily damage. I have to admire a Word that makes contracts enforceable. More damage than I'd take from an angry Servitor of Stone? Hard to say. That Elohite Seneschal had plenty of Essence at her disposal. "If I end up in Trauma," I say, as I get out of the car, "I'm going to blame you."

"Stone, Leo. They're not allowed to hit first."

"You're sure not one of them is willing to eat dissonance to get back at me? Or not mind too much when one of their Soldiers, who _aren't_ bound by dissonance conditions, do something about the matter?" I stomp behind him, feeling fragile and nervous and like someone might be aiming a rifle at the back of my head. Maybe I should've turned down the healing from Iris, to look less dangerous. Am I going to have to cringe? Probably, Stone's all about strength and what not, best to look weak and thus be underestimated. My pride's flexible these days, but I get tired of having to play the kicked puppy to assuage other people's egos.

"I haven't enough data to make a useful prediction, even if I were willing to volunteer one," Penny says, and raps on the back door of the dojo. The neighborhood smells like burnt insulation and smoke. I stand well behind him, where I won't be the _first_ thing they see on opening the door.

The kid who does swing the door open looks to be in his late teens, barefoot even in this cold and wearing a loose outfit appropriate for learning how to punch people. "Can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Donald Corbin," Penny says. "He should know I'm coming. Could you go tell him that his friend from Boston's here to see him?"

"Sure," says the kid, with a suspicious glance for both of us. "Half a sec." The door closes again.

"...friend from Boston?"

Penny shrugs, and turns to give me a thin smile. "I asked a question. I did not make a claim to that identity."

"Isn't that a little borderline for a Seraph?"

"In exchange for leaving a false idea up for belief without stating it is true, I receive a better chance of reaching my goals without excessive risk of revealing sensitive information to those who shouldn't have it. You don't think it's a fair trade?"

"I'm not the one who gets annoyed every time words don't match up with reality." I shut up when the door opens again, this time to reveal someone much larger than the kid. I cross-reference the research I did on the Tether earlier, and the name Penny mentioned. Oh, right. A teacher at this place, and someone Regan insisted we cross off the list of suspects because, and I quote, "It would be too obvious." He gives us both the look one would expect to find leveled at something sticky left on the carpet.

"Dalphon?" asks Penny, as polite as ever, and the man nods. "Peniel, of Trade. You were told we were coming?"

"It was mentioned." He leans in the doorway, arms crossed. "Now you want to come in and chat?"

"That was the plan." The Seraph sounds so unruffled he must be faking it. Either that or he's more easily annoyed by demons than angels. "Are you willing to speak with us privately?"

The Stone Seneschal stares down at us--well, down at me, and eye-to-eye with the Seraph, but with the distinct _attempt_ to stare down at him too--and says, "Maybe. Follow me." He turns his back to us.

Penny grabs my wrist before I can say _anything_ about waiting in the car, and I follow him in.

The room this Seneschal leads us to lies in the back of the dojo, a practice room that hasn't been used lately, judging by the old boxes stacked here. I wonder if the enrollment numbers have--no, wait, I'm _not_ wondering about that, because I don't really care about any signs of health or lack thereof for this Tether anymore. It's not my problem. Dalphon, whose name gives me images of sea-going mammals, flips on the light. "So you're the Trader who wants to be helpful," he says. He shuts the door behind me once I've stepped inside, Penny's hand still clutching my wrist. It's not like I'm going to try running at this point. "And this would be the Renegade demon."

"That's correct," Penny says. He lets go of me, stepping forward to address the Seneschal. I lean back against the door, glance around this dingy place. I can't even see most of the room with these stacks of dusty boxes and random junk piled around in here. "If you wanted to discuss--"

"Won't be necessary," Dalphon says. "Kelly? I think you wanted to talk with this one."

_Dammit_ but I am tired of being jumped. My head's ringing, and it would seem that at some point I ended up on the floor with a Malakite of the Wind on my chest. "Hi," she says, brighter smile than I saw the last time Regan and I ran into her. "I don't work for Stone, and _I_ get to hit first."

"Lovely," I say, and try to blast away the knife in her hand, but I'm too stressed to push my resonance the right way, and entropy fails to live up to its job description.

"Now," she says, tip of the knife pressing down against my chest on what I'd guess is a straight line to certain organs in this vessel I'd rather leave unpunctured, "you want to tell me where you were at nine in the morning last Christmas?"

"...ah," I say carefully. "That."

Penny crouches down next to us. "Virtue," he says, still calm, "while I realize that you may have unfinished business with this demon, would you let him up? By contract, I can't let him be killed under these circumstances."

"I'm not the one who signed the contract," the Malakite says, overlapping with the Stone Seneschal's dark mutter, "I should have _known_ Trade would deal with demons."

"Where it's considered appropriate, yes," Penny says to the Seneschal, but he doesn't take his eyes off the Malakite's. "I need him for other matters. Virtue. If you would?"

There's a long pause, during which I try to take shallow breaths. "Fine," Kelly says, and stands up--on my chest, _ow_ \--and steps aside, her knife disappearing back into her jacket. "Information now, long talk with knives _later_. But I want to know why he jumped me and Nip."

I accept Penny's help in standing up. "I could claim I took bad traffic patterns personally, but to be honest, it wasn't my idea. I'd as soon avoid angels."

"But you didn't. So. Why?" The Malakite lets me retreat to the relative safety of a wall, one hand lingering near her coat. I'm going to end up with a knife inside of me, no matter what she said to Penny, if I don't give her an answer she likes.

"Regan's a Balseraph of the War. You two are angels. That's all the reason she wants or needs." What a peculiar wash of anger's going through my head right now. "She likes killing people, and if you're an angel, that gives her an excuse."

"Right," says Kelly, and her teeth shine white at me. "So he's--she's a Balseraph of the War. What does that make you?"

"Fucking tired of jumping to attention when she snaps her fingers, that's what. She told me to back her up in the fight, I did that." I slouch down against the wall. I am small and unthreatening, please don't stab me. "If it had been up to me, we would have ignored you. Wasn't up to me. One more item on the long list of stupid orders."

"Would you include the fires you set near here on that list?" Dalphon asks, and I wonder how fast I could make it out the back door if I began running now.

This isn't a good time to nitpick that I didn't start the fires personally. I think. Can't remember. "Definitely. It was a stupid order." I get a nod from Penny on that one. Please don't ask me what I would have done myself, given the choice. Not with a Seraph standing in the room.

"So now you're back to, what, make amends?" asks the Malakite. She has her knife out again to play with it. Like I'm not sufficiently intimidated already, standing in a Stone Tether with a Seneschal and two other angels staring at me. "Play nice with the angels? Or do you just want to get back at your old friends?"

"None of the above," and I shouldn't be snapping, but I'm so tired of all this, and if no one's going to kill me I wish they'd stop trying to talk me to death. "I'm here because an Elohite of Trade twisted my arm until I signed a contract saying I would, and I intend to get as far away from this miserable dying city as I can once that contract's up."

Kelly grins. "Running away? I can work with that."

"I can't. What were you idiots over at Trade thinking?" The Seneschal looms in my direction, but his ire's turned at Penny now, who can handle it more gracefully than I can anyway. "You agreed, with a demon already captured, to let him go free after some little task?"

"We have our reasons," Penny says. A picture of calm against the righteous anger directed at him, and why didn't he pull out that expression when I was poking at him back on the drive? "That's the deal. Once he's finished assisting us here, we'll let him go."

"I didn't agree to any of this," Dalphon says, fists wrapping up, and I wonder if Stone gets extra dissonance if when they hit first, there's another angel on the other end. "One of my teachers killed months ago due to him and his master, buildings on fire, stirred up factions in the neighborhood, the fires, another set of demons after the fires running about with heavy weapons, and you want me to let him walk free? After all of that? I'd rather deal with his plots as they come to me without what information he could provide than do that."

"That's Stone for you," I say, and earn the sudden gaze of the Seneschal. "Always ready to stand in front of oncoming disaster because they know they can take the damage. So damn ready to take a few bullets in the chest from the gunman in front of them they don't even _notice_ who's sneaking around in the back doing the real damage. Did you think this was all about you? That we showed up here to harass some random Stone Tether that's not doing anything we'd care about?"

Oh, hey. Apparently this jacket _can_ hold my weight when someone chooses to pick it up. I'd be more comfortable with my feet on the floor. "Tell me," says Dalphon, "if you weren't aiming at this Tether, what were your real purposes here?"

"That's what we came to talk about," I say, and give him my cocky bastard smile. I don't get to pull that one out often. "But you weren't interested, remember?"

"Don't taunt the Cherub, Leo," Penny says. "It's impolite."

"What's he going to do? Kill me _more_ than he already wants to? Oh, wait, I know, he can go let the Malakite who already intends to cut me to pieces do it just like she means to anyway! There's a threat to make me change my mind about anything!" I spread my hands, dangling there from the Seneschal's grip. "If you intend to smite me no matter what I do, you have no room to bargain from, and I might as well do whatever I want."

I stumble when he drops me to the ground. "You're a disgusting creature of Hell," says Dalphon, "and I see no reason to bargain with you." He turns his gaze back on Penny. "Let him go free if you'd like. Kelly will catch up. I want nothing more to do with him."

"We are _trying_ to give you information you need," Penny says, and now he's starting to lose his control on that mask of calm. "Don't you want that?"

"I have a Tether to guard and a Soldier to bury," Dalphon snarls, and for an instant I can nearly see him as the Cherub he is, fangs and fur and wings. "I'm not in the mood for playing at deals and _trade_. Get out. Now."

I grab Penny's arm before he can argue further. "You heard what the man said, didn't you?"

"...I heard," Penny manages, and I can hear his teeth grinding. "We'll go as requested."

"I'd call it more of a command than a request," Kelly says, and slides between Penny and I to throw an arm over each of our shoulders as we go for the door. "Mind if I come along? Of course you don't. Let's go track down some more demons, why don't we."


	24. An Interlude, In Which I Receive New Information

Kelly kept one hand in the Calabite's, holding on as tightly as young lovers walking through the night, or a Malakite making sure a demon couldn't get far. "I take it you weren't expecting me."

"Not really." He wouldn't look at her, and that suited her. She could still read his honor when he looked away, even if it wasn't giving her useful results. So he considered it dishonorable to have broken his Heart: what of it? Renegade demons were still demons, and she'd heard no sign of this one being a candidate for turning to bright Ofanite rings.

"It's kinda funny," Kelly said, and tested how hard she could squeeze the Calabite's hand before he flinched. Not very. Definitely the kind of demon who would stand in the shadows and interfere with someone else's fight. "You see, I was hanging around near Stone's Cathedral in case anyone sent word about seeing that Balseraph I fought--Regan, you said?--and this call goes out for help down at this Tether. Seems a bunch of demons of the War showed up packing heavy weapons, looking for someone specific. Don't suppose that might have been when you went Renegade?"

"It seems likely." The Calabite searched through his pockets, apparently didn't find what he was looking for. "I take it you handled the situation."

"Oh, sure, we handled the situation. I didn't even lose a vessel. Ronda, who ran back after letting the Seneschal know about the incoming danger, she wasn't so lucky." Kelly twisted his thumb back, and was rewarded with an attempt to pull free. "Not that you'd care, given she was only human."

"Virtue," said the Seraph, a warning note, and Kelly let go of the demon's hand. He wouldn't get far if he tried to run.

"Collateral damage happens." The Calabite shrugged, and wouldn't look at her. "That's all there is to it."

"Easy enough to say when it's someone you don't know." Kelly's fingers curled around the hilt of her knife, but it wasn't time. She knew patience and the hunt, sweeping across the country for the bloody conclusion. Being part of the Wind didn't mean you had to be flighty. Plenty of time yet to dig out all the information he had to give, and then move in for the final blow.

The Calabite looked at her for an instant, and she would have thought that was anger there, but it was gone in an instant, and probably nothing more than the irritation of being near angels. "True enough," he said. "It's different when it's someone you know."


	25. In Which Many Things Happen, Not All Of Which I Understand

It wasn't my idea to rent a hotel room. Nonetheless, a hotel room we have, one floor down from Yejide and her pet human. I've claimed one bed for flop and stare at the ceiling purposes, while Kelly paces and Penny taps at the tablet computer I didn't know he had. "I don't see why we're not kicking down the door and shooting her," Kelly says. "Wouldn't that make more sense than this...emailing?"

"We're unlikely to eliminate the problem merely by eliminating the local demons," Penny says. I don't think he's over the encounter with the Stone Seneschal, because he's sitting up very straight and jabbing at his computer screen hard. "Furthermore, murdering people in a hotel room, demons or not, raises complications."

"You don't have a Role," Kelly points out. "I don't have a Role. We don't care about the Destroyer's Role. So what's to worry about? Walk in, kill everyone involved, brace for reinforcements."

"You assume that it would be that easy," I say. I would've grabbed the book I saved from Regan's condo if it were only Penny, but I don't feel like reading in front of a Malakite. "Regan beat you before, and Yejide's dangerous."

"Like I'm scared of the big bad Lilim of the War," Kelly says. "What's she going to do, flirt with me?"

"She was as good a shot as I am when she had lost all but one Ethereal Force," I say. "She's gotten Forces back since. She's faster than me. Yejide's no pushover." I wonder if Regan and Yejide are back together now that I'm gone. Regan's always been quick to adjust, rewrite the world until it's what she wanted all along, but I'm not sure if the Lilim would cooperate. If Regan were here right now--well, she'd be trying to kill me, but hanging out in hotel rooms brings back memories.

I close my eyes while Seraph and Malakite babble about strategy, and let out the screaming voices in the back of my head.

It's not a good idea to let my neuroses come out and play, but I need to deal with them so I can concentrate on long-term plans. Who's up first? Right, the bit that wants me to grab Katherine back from Trade. After I went to all this trouble to hand her off, I don't think so. I can be a possessive bastard, but there are limits. Stow that one away for later.

I sort through the reasons why it was stupid to go Renegade. Most of them true, none of them relevant; now that the decision's made, there's no return. I point this out to myself until those ones can be set aside.

My mind's conjured up regret for losing my service to Fire, for losing Regan, for losing a steady job with people who'd watch my back if I did what I was told. None of it matters now, so I dump those all back where they came from, quieter now that they've had their say. Looking back is useless. I'll schedule myself a few hours to work through the five stages of grief when I have some more space to relax.

"We have good lawyers ourselves," Penny is saying, the Malakite perched on the edge of the desk to watch his tablet. "But given the circumstances, perhaps we should call in Judgment."

"...wait, Judgment?" I sit up. "You're calling in Judgment? When?"

Both of them turn and blink at me in unison, though Penny's blink takes longer. "What," Kelly says, sharp grin for me as usual, "did you run into them before?"

"My general impression is that dropping a building on a triad won't get me brownie points from that Word."

"You dropped a building on them?" Kelly asks, with a trace of admiration that still won't make her hesitate to kill me when she gets the chance. "How?"

"Wired with explosives. Long story. Managed to pull it off without disturbance, even." I eye Penny, who has not said anything about the imminent arrival of Judgment or lack thereof. "Explosives are what I do. Well. What I did. I'd rather not have Judgment in this city while I'm still in it, so when are they expected to arrive?"

"I've only now sent the request and an explanation of the circumstances," Penny says. "Estimating from past experience, they'll take a few days, possibly weeks, to review the matter before assigning anyone to it. If events progress according to plan, you'll be gone before then." He kindly doesn't add "One way or another" to that, though he does glance at Kelly.

"And when's the last time you can remember anything going according to plan?" Penny opens his mouth. "On Earth, not in Heaven."

The Seraph thinks about this for a moment. "It depends on how loosely one defines going according to plan," he says.

"I'm all for getting this done before a bunch of Judges show up to tsk at us," Kelly says, "but may I point out that the easiest way to do that is the 'kick down the door and kill everyone inside the room' option?"

"There may be humans involved," Penny says.

"And, what, I'm supposed to feel bad about smiting some man who's thinking with his pants and led around by a Lilim? This doesn't count as any great loss." Kelly slides off the desk to go back to pacing. "Unlike _some_ people in the room, I don't work for a Mercurian. Being human doesn't count as a get out of smiting free card."

"Nor should association with demons, possibly unknowingly, condemn him to death," Penny retorts, setting down his tablet. "Leo. Is that human which Yejide controls a Soldier of Hell or Hellsworn?"

"Not so far as I know." I check my watch. "Wait a few hours, and he'll be asleep. Why don't we do the door-kicking then, and deal with Yejide alone in her room? If she's not there, we shake the place down for more information. If she is, that's one more problem dealt with early on." I consider a lingering possibility. "Though she might not be alone in her room, at that hour."

"I can deal with one human trying to assist a Lilim," Kelly says, voice full of contempt, and I'm beginning to wonder if she has something against Lilim specifically. On the other hand, she's a Malakite: it's to be expected that she'd spit out the name of any Band.

"Not what I meant. If Regan's in there, we're back to the messy, messy bloodbath option. I'm not much of a fighter, so there's only so much I can do to help you."

The Malakite looks me up and down. "...you're a Destroyer. Don't you...destroy? Whatever you're pointed at?"

"If you give me blueprints, explosives, and a week to work on the plans, _yes_. But if I try my resonance on Regan, it's likely to whiplash, and I don't have any guns on me. Trade confiscated them. What do you want me to do, punch her? I'd sooner wrestle a grizzly bear. It would be safer."

Kelly drops down onto the bed next to me, and I cue up my best flinch reaction. Hapless, helpless Calabite who's going to be easy to slice apart once we're done here. No reason to take precautions. "You're contracted to help," she says. "That doesn't mean hiding behind the angels every time conflict comes up."

"I was contracted for information and direction, not playing bodyguard. You think it's necessary to kill those two? Go ahead and take care of it yourself, and I'll be cheering you along the whole way," yes, I _did_ see that twitch, Penny, "but don't expect me to be out in the front."

"Three hours," Kelly says, and slides closer to me on the bed, there we go, flinch, and watch her smirk. "Then we go see how your old friends handle a little steel to the throat."

"I don't suppose anyone's going to lend me a gun?" I flop back down. "No? I'm sticking to the back of this hunting expedition."

Three hours drag by with all the agonizing slowness that can only be achieved while staring at a hotel room ceiling. The most exciting part is when Penny asks me for clarification on something, before sending off another email. Like this city wasn't infested with angels already. At the rate this is going, it's probably a plot by Baal to concentrate angelic attention in this one city to reduce resources available elsewhere.

"Enough _waiting_ ," Kelly says, right as the clock swings onto the hour. "Let's move. Peniel, you with me?"

The Seraph tucks his tablet away into the desk drawer. "In this situation, yes." He stands up, and looks to me. "Leo. I'd appreciate backup, if you feel capable of providing it."

"Don't expect much," I say, and swing off the bed to follow them.

"No worries there," Kelly says. "I don't."

The elevators and halls are empty on the way up; the hotel's barely populated, and the hour late. When we reach the room registered to Yejide's Role, Kelly crouches down to peer at the sliver of gap between door and carpet. She stands back up, and frowns. "Light," she murmurs. "Probably still up. So much for picking the lock."

I think Penny meant to discuss strategy at that point, but since Kelly slams one foot into the door to send it flying open, that's moot.

The first shot clips Kelly in the shoulder while she's on the way in. This is why I stand in the back when people are about to do something stupid. Penny drops down low, lucky enough to miss another bullet, as he moves in, and me? I stay outside the room and wonder when the gunshots will bring in spectators.

I stick my hands in my pockets--not like I have a weapon--and lean against the wall in the hallway, listening. Nothing but breathing and metal clangs, more shots. I wonder how many bullets Yejide has in that clip, and how fast she can switch them out.

Then I hear Regan snarling in Helltongue, and things get more complicated.

When Penny stumbles into the hall, Regan's right behind him, wearing her backup male vessel and looking a bit upset. The Seraph tumbles down to the floor, bleeding heavily, eyes narrowed as he tries to ward off sword with knife. Regan hasn't seen me yet, not from where I'm standing, and he flicks the knife out of Penny's hand with one neat stab through the angel's wrist, plants a foot on the same spot, raises his sword--

"They're never going to get these carpets clean," I say, and Regan jerks to a pause, turns to see me. I flash him a smile, don't bother trying to resonate his sword, because I know that artifact's tough. "I give you all these chances to stab angels, and do I get any thanks?"

"I'll be right with you," Regan promises, lifting his sword, and it's right here, this moment, when I realize what kind of Discord I got slapped with, because I'm lunging in to grab that arm before I can _think_ about it, this is a reflex action I never had before, and there's a voice I didn't notice, buried the louder ones, that can jerk me around.

"No," I say, or maybe that's the Discord talking, and Regan wasn't balanced for that attack, loses his footing enough to step off the Seraph.

We stand there, staring at each other, his sword out and me with no weapon but my hand on his wrist.

He's not shooting me.

This is very strange.

"Leo," Regan says, and I can't _listen_ to this, so I cut and run, right there and then, go pounding down the hallway like I could outrun him. I think it's enough to surprise him into a pause, because I get around the corner before I hear him following. There's a bright red handle on the wall as I get to the stairs, so I yank the fire alarm, and then it's downstairs for me. I can't deal with this right now. I don't know where I'm going, but I can't deal with this.


	26. An Interlude, In Which I Have Inconvenienced Other People

"Running would be a good plan right now," said the Seraph, and Peniel suppressed irritation at the way the Malakite made sure the Lilim inside the room was dead before responding. It was the nature of Malakim to focus on such things, no matter how much it might inconvenience him.

"Running? I'm not sure you can _walk_." Kelly helped him to his feet, and Penny did admit that his legs were proving uncooperative. Overhead, the fire alarm kept ringing, and more human sounds approached. "We'll never hide everything in the room with this much blood in the hallway, cops will be here once the firefighters see _this_. Okay, next plan. We blame this all on the Balseraph who--wait, where's the Calabite?"

"Running," Penny said.


	27. In Which I Don't Get What I Want

The nice thing about vessels is that you don't get tired, not the way humans do. I think I've been running for some two miles when Regan catches up with me, drags me into an alley maybe five blocks from my destination. It's not worth protesting. He wants to kill me, he can, I know that. Funny how this Discord doesn't do anything about keeping me alive, no, I have to count on myself for that. So I'm not any more physically exhausted than I was when I started running, but I'm still shaking when he throws me up against the wall. This is familiar. Knife to the throat, exchange a few threats, and this time, he'll kill me.

"You betrayed me," he says, and it's not what I expected. He's supposed to be angry right now, the way he was in the condo when we jumped him there, but he only sounds...hurt. Like for all his Balseraph paranoia he didn't expect this. "Why?"

The knife point at my throat, that's familiar. My brain's still full of a hundred angry voices trying to out-shout my Discord. But this metal point, that's something I can focus on. "I don't serve the War. I don't, I _can't_. Fire's part of who I am."

"Not anymore," Regan says. "Why can't you adapt?"

"I don't want to adapt! You rewrote my soul, and you want me to be okay with this?" I'm shouting now, and I don't care what he thinks of that or who hears. "You drop that on me out of nowhere and expect me to not _mind_?"

Regan's face stills for a moment, and I know that look, it's where he thinks up the best lie and convinces himself it's true. "I told you," he says. "Before that mess that killed off your vessel. I told you it was coming, you had your chance to throw a fit then. Not my fault you got so addled by Trauma you forgot and panicked."

I don't remember enough of what happened right before my last death to tell if he's speaking the truth or not. He's probably lying. Not that it matters. "I don't want to serve your Prince," I say, and that's as honest truth as I've ever told a Seraph. "Even if I could, it's too late to change anything. If I go back, they'll kill me. Permanently. You know this." Pretend you still like to imagine yourself as loving me, and let me go. 

Regan puts his free hand to my throat, tucks the knife away, and shifts vessels, a whisper of disturbance as she's back in the vessel I left unconscious on that broken floor. Bloody and bruised, and looking much like she did the first time we met back in college. "No," she says, and disturbance rushes around me, I don't know why. "They won't kill you. I won't let them. Come back with me, and the General will let me take you as a prize, I will _protect_ you. You're too useful to be discarded like that, and you will adapt. I know you can."

I could. I could follow her back, get this stupid Discord stripped, have my Heart back the way it once was, and even if it would be serving another Prince, I could...manage. Eventually. Her lips brush over mine, not even a bite to remind me of my place. I don't want to be a Renegade, I don't want to _die_ , and I could get my life back.

"Come on, Leo," Regan says, and smiles at me, sad little smile. "You've gotten yourself into a stupid mess, but I can still pull you out."

"Liar," says Ling.

We turn together, Regan's hand falling from my throat towards my hand, fingers wrapping in mine the way they used to. "And who's this? Another angel trying to use you before they discard you?"

Ling stands in the mouth of the alley, sandals on her feet and an overcoat so long it sweeps the ground over her shoulders. "My name is Ling," she says, walking forward towards us, "and I serve Flowers, and you are a liar."

"Confident little brat," Regan says to me, Helltongue now, and she hasn't realized yet, has she?

"Seraph of Flowers," I reply. Probably not a fast one, despite her peripatetic tendencies. All we have to do is leave before the kid's Cherub shows up.

Ling strides right up to the both of us, and I suppose she has nothing to fear, not with her attunement. Regan couldn't hurt her if she tried. "Leo," she says, "you're not a good person, but you maybe could be, so I want to tell you this. She's lying. She'll take you back, and they won't kill you, but they will hurt you, and they'll strip your Ethereal Forces until you can't think far enough to try to run again, and then they'll hand you back to her as a pet gun, someone to point at what she wants destroyed."

"She's lying," Regan murmurs, sweet voice in my ear. She's beautiful in all her forms, and she's a Balseraph.

"Seraphim don't lie," I say. "This is the truth as you know it, Ling?"

The little Seraph presses her palms together, and opens them. Dried grass falls to the ground. I have no idea what that was supposed to mean. "It's what she knows," Ling says. "I don't know if it's the final truth, but she knows it for a fact. Her reward for dragging you back. She never liked that you were smarter than her."

I want to believe everything Regan told me.

But Seraphim don't lie.

I pull my hand away from Regan's. "For what it's worth," I say, words and worlds collapsing around me, "I'm sorry."

"You can't tell me you're falling for _Flowers_ ," Regan snarls, and the knife hangs in her hand. She can't hurt me so long as Ling is here.

Not physically.

"Are you kidding? The sweet and peaceful would drive me crazy in a week. But I'm not in the mood for Force-stripping today." I step back, hands in my own pockets so that I can't reach for her again. Sense over sensibility, here. "There's a Malakite of the Wind tracking us down right now, and she's _really_ upset about what you did. She might have grabbed reinforcements by now. Yejide's likely dead, and if I were you, I'd be making myself scarce before my Role got shredded by angels descending on the city like, well, you know. Fist of God."

"Where will you go?" Regan asks. She's upset. She'll get it over it. Give her a week, and she'll have convinced herself that she never cared for me. It must be nice, being a Balseraph. All the voices shut up as soon as you tell them they don't exist.

"Right now? Flowers Tether. Later on, hard to say. Maybe you'll run into me again and get your wish." Ling offers me a hand. I keep mine in their pockets, shake my head to her. I'm a sociopathic bastard, but I'm not that cruel. "If you want to linger outside the gates waiting for me to show, I'll be out eventually, but I wouldn't recommend it."

Regan doesn't follow any further than the street.

"Come on," I say to Ling, once we're a block away. "Let's get back to the Flowers Tether before she finds the sniper rifle, or your Cherub goes into a complete panic."

The tiny strange Seraph looks at me with serious eyes. "I'll race you," she says, and goes pounding away, sandals clattering over the cement.

How am I supposed to respond to that, except start running?


	28. An Epilogue, In Which I Leave

Ling checked the website update in the last of the browser variations, and shut down the computer. She spun around in her wheely chair to look at the Calabite on her bed, currently reading through one of the books from Iris's library below. "You're leaving today, aren't you?"

Leo didn't look up. "That's the plan."

"Are you sure?"

The Calabite sighed. "Do you really want me hanging around here? If I stay much longer, I'm going to start breaking things you care about."

Ling slid down onto the floor, pulled her knees up below her chin. "I want you to stay. I want you to _change_."

"Not going to happen, kid." Leo flipped a page delicately in the book, and she couldn't understand. He could turn pages like that, and still be who he was. The world was full of things she couldn't comprehend. "Sorry."

"Just because you believe it, that doesn't mean it's true." Ling closed her eyes tight until they stopped feeling the way they did. "You could try to change."

"Why should I? I have no interest in being someone other than who I am." Which meant he didn't understand at all, and her words, about tulip bulbs and seeds and mulch and the way dead leaves turned to the ground around the roots of trees, how rain leapt from salty oceans into the clouds to fall as sweet drops in the garden, none of them were enough to make him see what she did.

"If you wanted to--"

"But I don't." It wasn't cruelty in that voice, and that she could have taken better. What hurt was how nicely he said it, like he didn't want to make her chest hurt with that knowing. "Really, Ling, you ought to stop thinking about it, if it's going to keep bothering you. Find someone else to fix."

"But you're the one who's here."

"Not for much longer."

The door opened, and that was Peniel, Seraph of Trade, strange man who might look a bit like her in his real form. Ling sprang to her feet, wrapped her arms around this not quite stranger. "Make him stay," she said. "Tell him _why_ , I can't manage it."

"It's not in the contract," said the other Seraph, as nicely as Leo had told her he didn't want to change. "I'm not allowed to make him stay, and if he doesn't want to listen, there's no use in telling him."

"See?" Leo stood up, grabbed his jacket from the bedpost. "Listen to the big Seraph. He knows what he's talking about."

"Ready to go?" Peniel asked, checking his watch, as if any time could be good for leaving.

"I'm ready to see the last of this city. Let's get out of here while there's still daylight." Leo pulled his jacket on, and when he closed the book on the bed, it was ever so carefully. No sense at all.

Ling followed them down the stairs, listening to talk about driving routes and where Leo might detach from the trip back to the Trade Tether, how soon the Judges would arrive, whether they ought to stop for a meal along the way. They didn't say anything about why he might want to stay, and she couldn't find words good enough to interrupt and say so herself.

At the doorway, she yanked on Leo's sleeve. "Wait," she said. "Only a moment." She ran all the way upstairs, dug under her bed until she found what she'd been looking for, ran back downstairs with her heart pounding, and they'd waited, they really had. Ling presented Leo with the sketchpad and pencil. "Here," she said. "For you."

The Calabite took them. "Any particular reason?"

"Yes," Ling said, but she was all out of good words again, and so she fled back to her room before she could try to hold him longer.

Perle came up to visit, with a mug of hot chocolate and all the sympathy Cherubim bring. "He'll be fine for a while," she said, setting down the mug. "Iris made sure Kelly was off at the Stone Tether first. He'll have a head start, and if she does catch up with him, maybe that'll remind him why he should think more about redemption and less about selfish desires."

"He'll only think about what he wants to think about," Ling said, clutched the mug between two cold hands. "I don't know if he listened. Not to any of it."

"Well," Perle said, and patted her on the shoulder, "maybe he'll remember what you said later, when he's in a better frame of mind."

"I don't know," Ling said. She drank the hot chocolate down to the dregs, and stared into the cup. "There are so many things I don't know."

Daylight slipped down, the curtained window in her room turning into a blank black spot. Ling made her way downstairs, worn carpet against bare feet, and tried to think about other things. Seeds for the spring, cold-nipped bulbs that would remember their green hearts as the weather turned warm, promises of more rain.

She passed the library door, and heard voices inside.

At the table in the very back, by the great bay windows, Perle and Iris sat talking, bent over their cups of tea and bits of paper. "Ling," Iris said, and put out a hand for her to hold. "We're working on a decision that'll affect you, so you ought to give us some input. How would you feel about taking in a human child? Someone who's already been exposed to bits of the War, and could use a safe place with people who understand. There's an orphan Trade's come across, and they said they thought we'd--"

"Katherine," Ling said, and she smiled at Iris's blink. "Sometimes, I know things."


End file.
